• 


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OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

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Library, 


r  of  all 
s  of  the 
sion.  If 


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settled  all  accounts  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

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Legislature  and  its  officers  during  the  session  of  the  same,  and  at  any  time 
by  the  Governor  and  the  officers  of  the  Executive  Department  of  this  State, 
who  are  required  to  keep  their  offices  at  the  seat  of  government  ;  the  Jus- 
tices of  the  Supreme  Court  ;  the  Attorney-General  ;  and  the  Trustees  of 
the  Library. 


BENJ.  P.  AVERY,   STATE  PRINTER. 


TRIPS 


LIFE  OF  A  LOCOMOTIVE  ENGINEER. 


NEW  YORK : 

J.  BRADBURN  (SUCCESSOR  TO  M.  DOOLADT), 
49    WALKER    STREET. 

FOLLETT,    FOSTER   &   CO. 
1863. 


Entered  according  to  Ac-t  of  Conjnvss.  i  i  the  year  1860. 

BY  FOLLKTT.  FOSTEK  &  CO.. 

In  the  Clerk >  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  South 
District  of  Oiiio 


DEDICATION. 


TO      THE 

RAILROAD  MEN  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

A    CLASS 

WITH  WHOM   MY  INTERESTS   WERE   LONG  IDENTIFIED,   AND  WHO  I  EVER 

FOUND  GENEROUS  AND  BRAVE,  I  DEDICATE  THIS 

UNPRETENDING  VOLUME. 

THE   AUTHOR. 


r 


PREFACE. 


BRAVERY  and  heroism  have  in  all  times  been  extolled,  and 
the  praises  of  the  self-sacrificing  men  and  women  who  have 
risked  their  own  in  the  saving  of  others'  lives,  been  faithfully 
chronicled. 

Railroad  men,  too  long  looked  upon  as  the  rougher  kind  of 
humanity,  have  been  the  subjects  of  severe  condemnation  and 
reproach  upon  the  occurrence  of  every  disaster,  while  their 
skill,  bravery  and  presence  of  mind  have  scarcely  ever  found  a 
chronicler.  The  writer  ventures  to  assert,  that  if  the  record  of 
their  noble  deeds  were  all  gathered,  and  presented  in  their  true 
light,  it  would  be  found  that  these  rough,  and  weather-worn 
men  were  entitled  to  as  high  a  place,  and  a  fame  as  lofty,  as 
has  been  allotted  to  any  other  class  who  cope  with  disaster. 

It  has  been  the  aim  of  the  writer,  who  has  shared  their 
dangerous  lot,  to  present  a  few  truthful  sketches,  trusting  that 
his  labor  may  tend  to  a  better  knowledge  of  the  dangers  that 
are  passed,  by  those  who  drive,  and  ride  behind  the  IRON 
HORSE.  If  he  shall  succeed  in  this,  and  make  the  time  of  his 
reader  not  appear  misspent,  he  will  be  satisfied. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
Running  in  a  Fog,   ------  -11 

A  Close  Shave, -      17 

A  Collision,  -  -  -      29 

Collision  Extraordinary,      -  -  -  -  -  -      37 

Burning  of  the  Henry  Clay,  -  -  -  -  -      43 

The  Conductor,         -  -  -  -  -  -  -      51 

Bravery  of  an  Engineer,     -  -  -  -  -  -      59 

The  Fireman,  ---..-.      67 

A  Dream  in  the "  Caboose,".  -  -  -  -  -83 

The  Brakeman,        ---....      75 

An  Unmitigated  Villain.     -  -      93 

A  Proposed  Race  between  Steam  and  Lightning,  -  -  -    101 

An  Abrupt  Call,      -  -  -  -  -  -  -    109 

The  Good  Luck  of  being  Obstinate,  -    115 

Human  Lives  v.  The  Dollar,  -  -  -  -  -    123 

Forty-two  Miles  Per  Hour,  -  -    131 

Used  up  at  Last,      -  -  -  -  -  -  -    139 

A  Victim  of  Low  Wages,    -  -  -  -  -  -    145 

Coroners'  Juries  v.  Railroad  Men,    -  -    153 

Adventures  of  an  Irish  Railroad  Man,        ....    161 

A  Bad  Bridge,         -  -  -  -  -  -  -    169 

A  Warning,  •' 177 

Singular  Accidents,  -  -  -  -  -  -  -185 

Ludicrous  Incidents,  -  -  -  -  -  -191 

Explosions,  -  -  -  -  -  -  -    197 

How  a  Friend  was  Killed,   -  -  -  -  -  -     203 

An  Unromantic  Hero,          -  -  -  -  -  -213 

The  Duties  of  an  Engineer,  -  -  -  -  -    219 


RUNNING  IN  A  FOG. 


PS 


RUNNING  IN  A  FOG. 


IN  the  year  185-  I  was  running  an  engine  on  the 

road.  My  engine  was  named  the  Racer,  and  a 

"racer"  she  was,  too;  her  driving-wheels  were  seven 
feet  in  diameter,  and  she  could  turn  them  about  as  fast  as 
was  necessary,  I  can  assure  you.  My  regular  train  was  the 
"  Morning  Express,"  leaving  the  upper  terminus  of  the 
road  at  half  past  four,  running  sixty-nine  miles  in  an  hour 
and  forty-five  minutes,  which,  as  I  had  to  make  three 
stops,  might  with  justice  be  considered  pretty  fast  travel- 
ing. 

I  liked  this  run  amazingly — for,  mounted  on  my  "  iron 

steed,"  as  I  sped  in  the  dawn  of  day  along  the  banks  of 

the  river  which  ran  beside  the  road,  I  saw  all  nature  wake  ; 

the  sun  would  begin  to  deck  the  eastern  clouds  with  rose- 

(11) 


12  RUNNING  IN  A  FOG. 

ate  hues — rising  higher,  it  would  tip  the  mountain-tops 
with  its  glory — higher  still,  it  would  shed  its  radiance  over 
every  hill-side  and  in  every  valley.  It  would  illumine  the 
broad  bosom  of  the  river,  before  flowing  so  dark  and  drear, 
now  sparkling  and  glittering  with  radiant  beauty,  seeming 
to  run  rejoicing  in  its  course  to  the  sea.  The  little  vessels 
that  had  lain  at  anchor  all  night,  swinging  idly  with  the 
tide,  would,  as  day  came  on,  shake  out  their  broad  white 
sails,  and,  gracefully  careening  to  the  morning  breeze, 
sweep  away  over  the  water,  looking  so  ethereal  that  I  no 
longer  wondered  at  the  innocent  Mexicans  supposing  the 
ships  of  Cortez  were  gigantic  birds  from  the  spirit-land. 
Some  mornings  were  not  so  pleasant,  for  frequently  a 
dense  fog  would  rise  and  envelop  in  its  damp,  unwholesome 
folds  the  river,  the  road,  and  all  things  near  them.  This 
was  rendered  doubly  unpleasant  from  the  fact  that  there 
were  on  the  line  numerous  drawbridges  which  were  liable 
to  be  opened  at  all  hours,  but  more  especially  about  day- 
break. To  be  sure  there  were  men  stationed  at  every 
bridge,  and  in  fact  every  half-mile  along  the  road,  whose 
special  duty  it  was  to  warn  approaching  trains  of  danger 
from  open  drawbridges,  obstructions  on  the  track,  etc., 
but  the  class  of  men  employed  in  such  duty  was  not 


RUNNING  IN  A  FOG.  13 

noted  for  sobriety,  and  the  wages  paid  were  not  sufficient 
to  secure  a  peculiarly  intelligent  or  careful  class.  So  the 
confidence  I  was  compelled  to  place  in  them  was  necessa- 
rily burdened  with  much  distrust. 

These  men  were  provided  with  white  and  red  signal 
lanterns,  detonating  torpedoes  and  colored  flags,  and  the 
rules  of  the  road  required  them  to  place  a  torpedo  on  the 
rail  and  show  a  red  signal  both  on  the  bridge  and  at  a 
"  fog  station,"  distant  half  a  mile  from  the  bridge,  before 
they  opened  the  draw.  At  all  times  when  the  draw  was 
closed  they  were  to  show  a  white  light  or  flag  at  this  "  fog 
station."  This  explanation  will,  I  trust,  be  sufficient  to 
enable  every  reader  to  understand  the  position  in  which  I 
found  myself  in  the  "  gray  "  of  one  September  morning. 

I  left  the  starting-point  of  my  route  that  morning  ten 
minutes  behind  time.  The  fog  was  more  dense  than  I 
ever  remembered  having  seen  it.  It  enveloped  every 
thing.  I  could  not  see  the  end  of  my  train,  which  con- 
sisted of  five  cars  filled  with  passengers.  The  "  head- 
light "  which  I  carried  on  my  engine  illumined  the  fleecy 
cloud  only  a  few  feet,  so  that  I  was  running  into  the  most 
utter  darkness.  I  did  not  like  the  look  of  things  at  all, 
but  my  "  orders  "  were  positive  to  use  all  due  exertions  to 


14  RUNNING  IN  A  FOG. 

make  time.  So,  blindly  putting  my  trust  in  Providence 
and  the  miserable  twenty-dollars-a-month-men  who  were 
its  agents  along  the  road,  I  darted  headlong  into  and 
through  the  thick  and,  to  all  mortal  vision,  impenetrable 
fog.  The  Racer  behaved  nobly  that  morning ;  she 
seemed  gifted  with  the  "wings  of  the  wind,"  and 
rushed  thunderingly  on,  making  such  "  time  "  as  aston- 
ished even  me,  almost  "  native  and  to  the  manor  born." 
Every  thing  passed  off  right.  I  had  "made  up"  seven 
minutes  of  my  time,  and  was  within  ten  miles  of  my  jour- 
ney's end.  The  tremendous  speed  at  which  I  had  been 
running  had  exhilarated  and  excited  me.  That  pitching 
into  darkness,  blindly  trusting  to  men  that  I  had  at  best 
but  weak  faith  in,  had  given  my  nerves  an  unnatural  ten- 
sion, so  I  resolved  to  run  the  remaining  ten  miles  at  what- 
ever rate  of  speed  the  Racer  was  capable  of  making. 
I  gave  her  steam,  and  away  we  flew.  The  fog  was  so 
thick  that  I  could  not  tell  by  passing  objects  how  fast  we 
ran,  but  the  dull,  heavy  and  oppressive  roar,  as  we  shot 
through  rock  cuttings  and  tunnels,  the  rocking  and  strain- 
ing of  my  engine,  and  the  almost  inconceivable  velocity  at 
which  the  driving-wheels  revolved,  told  me  that  my  speed 
was  something  absolutely  awful.  I  did  not  care,  though. 


RUNNING  JN  A  FOG.  15 

I  was  used  to  that,  and  the  rules  bore  me  out ;  besides,  I 
wanted  to  win  for  my  engine  the  title  of  the  fastest  engine 
on  the  road,  which  I  knew  she  deserved.  So  I  cried, 
"On!  on!!" 

I  had  to  cross  one  drawbridge  which,  owing  to  the 
intervention  of  a  high  hill,  could  not  be  seen  from  the 
time  we  passed  the  " fog  station"  until  we  were  within 
three  or  four  rods  of  it.  I  watched  closely  for  the  "  fog 
station  "  signal.  It  was  white.  "  All  right !  go  ahead  my 
beauty  !  "  shouted  I,  giving  at  the  same  time  another  jerk 
at  the  "  throttle,"  and  we  shot  into  the  "  cut."  In  less 
time  than  it  takes  me  to  write  it,  we  were  through,  and 
there  on  the  top  of  the  "  draw,"  dimly  seen  through  a  rift  in 
the  fog,  glimmered  with  to  me  actual  ghastliness  the  danger 
signal — a  red  light.  It  seemed  to  glare  at  me  with  almost 
fiendish  malignancy.  Stopping  was  out  of  the  question, 
even  had  I  been  running  at  a  quarter  of  my  actual  speed. 
As  I  was  running,  I  had  not  even  time  to  grasp  the  whis- 
tle-cord before  we  would  be  in.  So  giving  one  longing, 
lingering  thought  to  the  bright  world,  whose  duration  to 
me  could  not  be  reckoned  in  seconds  even,  I  shut  my 
eyes  and  waited  my  death,  which  seemed  as  absolute  and 
inevitable  as  inglorious.  It  was  but  an  instant  of  time, 


16  RUNNING  IN  A  FOG. 

but  an  age  of  thought  and  dread — and  then — I  was  over 
the  bridge.  A  drunken  bridge-tender  had,  with  accursed 
stupidity,  hoisted  the  wrong  light,  and  my  adventure  was 
but  a  "scare" — but  half  a  dozen  such  were  as  bad  as 
death. 

It  was  three  weeks  before  I  ran  again,  and  I  never 
after  "  made  up  time  "  in  a  fog. 


A  CLOSE  SHAVE 


A  CLOSE   SHAYE. 


SEVERAL  times  during  my  life  I  have  felt  the  emotions 
so  often  told  of,  so  seldom  felt  by  any  man,  when,  with 
death  apparently  absolute  and  inevitable,  immediate  and 
inglorious,  staring  me  full  in  the  face,  I  forgot  all  fears 
for  myself — dreamed  not  of  shuddering  at  the  thought 
that  I  soon  must  die — that  the  gates  of  death  were  swung 
wide  open  before  me,  and  that,  with  a  speed  and  force 
against  which  all  human  resistance  was  useless,  I  was 
rushing  into  them.  I  knew  that  I  was  fated  with  the 
rest;  but  I  thought  only  of  those  behind  me  in  my 
charge,  under  my  supervision,  then  chatting  gaily,  watch- 
ing the  swift-receding  scenery,  thinking  perhaps  how 
quickly  they  would  be  at  home  with  their  dear  ones,  and 
not  dreaming  of  the  hideous  panorama  of  death  so  soon 
(19) 


20  A  CLOSE  SHAVE. 

to  unroll,  the  tinkle  of  the  bell  for  the  starting  of  which 
I  seemed  to  hear;  the  first  sad  scene,  the  opening 
crash  of  which  was  sickening  my  soul  with  terror  and  blind- 
ing me  with  despair.  For  I  knew  that  those  voices,  now 
so  gay,  now  so  happy,  would  soon  be  shrieking  in  agony, 
or  muttering  the  dying  groan.  I  knew  that  those  faces, 
now  so  smiling,  would  soon  be  distorted  with  pain,  or 
crushed  out  of  all  semblance  to  humanity ;  and  I  was 
powerless  to  avert  the  catastrophe.  All  human  force 
was  powerless.  Nothing  but  the  hand  of  God,  stretched 
forth  in  its  Omnipotence,  could  avert  it ;  and  there  was 
scarce  time  for  a  prayer  for  that ;  for  such  scenes  last 
but  a  moment,  though  their  memory  endures  for  all  time. 
I  remember  well  one  instance  of  this  kind.  I  was 
running  on  the  R.  &  W.  road,  in  the  East.  A  great 
Sabbath-school  excursion  and  picnic  was  gotten  up,  and 
I  was  detailed  to  run  the  train.  The  children  of  all  the 
towns  on  the  road  were  assembled;  and,  when  we  got 
to  the  grove  in  which  the  picnic  was  to  be  held,  we  had 
eighteen  cars  full  as  they  could  hold  of  the  little  ones, 
all  dressed  in  their  holiday  attire,  and  brimful  of  mirth 
and  gayety.  I  drew  the  train  in  upon  the  switch,  out  of 
the  way  of  passing  trains,  let  the  engine  cool  down,  and 


A  CLOSE   SHAVE.  21 

then  went  into  the  woods  to  participate  in  the  innocent 
pleasures  of  the  day.  The  children  very  soon  found  out 
that  I  was  the  engineer ;  and,  as  I  liked  children,  and 
tried  to  amuse  them,  it  was  not  long  before  I  had  a 
perfect  troop  at  my  heels,  all  laughing  and  chatting 
gaily  to  "  Mr.  Engineer,"  as  they  called  me.  They 
asked  me  a  thousand  questions  about  the  engine;  and 
one  and  all  tried  to  extort  a  promise  from  me  to  let 
them  ride  with  me,  several  declaring  to  me  in  the 
strictest  confidence,  their  intention  of  becoming  engi- 
neers, and  their  desire,  above  all  things,  that  I  should 
teach  them  how. 

So  the  day  passed  most  happily.  The  children  swung 
in  the  swings,  romped  on  the  grass,  picked  the  flowers, 
and  wandered  at  their  own  sweet  will  all  over  the 
woods.  A  splendid  collation  was  prepared  for  them,  at 
which  I,  too,  sat  down,  and  liked  to  have  made  my- 
self sick  eating  philopenas  with  the  Billys,  Freddys, 
Mollies,  and  Matties,  whose  acquaintance  I  had  made 
that  day,  and  whose  pretty  faces  and  sweet  voices 
would  urge  me,  in  a  style  that  I  could  not  find  heart 
to  resist,  to  eat  a  philopena  with  them,  or  "just  to 


22  A   CLOSE   SHAVE. 

taste  their  cake  and  see  if  it  wasn't  the  goodest  I  ever 
saw." 

But  the  day  passed,  as  happy  or  unhappy  days  will, 
and  time  to  start  came  round.  We  had  some  trouble 
getting  so  many  little  folks  together,  and  it  was  only 
by  dint  of  a  great  deal  of  whistling  that  all  my  load 
was  collected.  I  was  much  amused  to  see  some  of 
the  little  fellows'  contempt  at  others  more  timid  than 
they,  who  shut  their  ears  to  the  sound  of  the  whistle, 
and  ran  to  hide  in  the  cars.  Innumerable  were  the 
entreaties  that  I  had  from  some  of  them,  to  let  them 
ride  on  the  engine,  "  only  this  once ; "  but  I  was  inex- 
orable. The  superintendent  of  the  road,  who  conducted 
the  train,  came  to  me  as  I  was  about  ready  to  start, 
and  told  me  that,  as  we  had  lost  so  much  time  collecting 
our  load,  I  had  better  not  stop  at  the  first  station,  from 
whence  we  had  taken  but  a  few  children,  but  push  on  to 
the  next,  where  we  would  meet  the  down  train,  and  send 
them  back  from  there.  Another  reason  for  this  was,  that 
I  had  a  heavy  train,  and  it  was  a  very  bad  stop  to  make, 
lying  right  in  a  valley,  at  the  foot  of  two  very  heavy 
grades.  So,  off  I  started,  the  children  in  the  cars 


A   CLOSE    SHAVE.  23 

swinging  a  dozen  handkerchiefs  from  every  window,  all 
happy. 

As  I  had  good  running-ground,  and  unless  I  hurried, 
was  going  to  be  quite  late  in  reaching  my  journey's 
end,  I  pulled  out,  and  let  the  engine  do  her  best.  So 
we  were  running  very  fast — about  forty-eight  miles  an 
hour.  Before  arriving  at  the  station  at  which  I  was  not 
to  stop,  I  passed  through  a  piece  of  heavy  wood,  in  the 
midst  of  which  was  a  long  curve.  On  emerging  from 
the  woods,  we  left  the  curve,  and  struck  a  straight 
track,  which  extended  toward  the  station  some  forty 
rods  from  the  woods.  I  sounded  my  whistle  a  half 
mile  from  the  station,  giving  a  long  blow  to  signify  my 
intention  of  passing  without  a  stop,  and  never  shut  off; 
for  I  had  a  grade  of  fifty  feet  to  the  mile  to  surmount 
just  as  I  passed  the  station,  and  I  wanted  pretty  good 
headway  to  do  it  with  eighteen  cars.  I  turned  the 
curve,  shot  out  into  sight  of  the  station,  and  there 
saw  what  almost  curdled  the  blood  in  my  veins,  and 
made  me  tremble  with  terror:  a  dozen  cars,  heavily 
laden  with  stone,  stood  on  the  side  track,  and  the 
switch  at  this  end  was  wide  open !  I  knew  it  was 
useless,  but  I  whistled  for  brakes,  and  reversed  my 


24  A  CLOSE   SHAVE. 

engine.  I  might  as  well  have  thrown  out  a  fish-hook 
and  line,  and  tried  to  stop  by  catching  the  hook  in  a 
tree ;  for,  running  as  I  was,  and  so  near  the  switch,  a 
feather  laid  on  the  wheels  would  have  stopped  us  just 
as  soon  as  the  brakes.  I  gave  up  all.  I  did  not  think 
for  a  moment  of  the  painful  death  so  close  to  me ;  I 
thought  only  of  the  load  behind  me.  I  thought  of  their 
sweet  faces,  which  had  so  lately  smiled  on  me.  now  to 
be  distorted  with  agony,  or  pale  in  death.  I  thought 
of  their  lithe  limbs,  so  full  of  animation,  now  to  be 
crushed,  and  mangled,  and  dabbled  in  gore.  I  thought 
of  the  anxious  parents  watching  to  welcome  their  smil- 
ing, romping  darlings  home  again ;  doomed,  though,  to 
caress  only  a  mangled,  crushed,  and  stiffened  corpse, 
or  else  to  see  the  fair  promises  of  their  young  lives 
blasted  forever,  and  to  watch  their  darlings  through  a 
crippled  life.  'Twas  too  horrible.  I  stood  with  stiffened 
limbs  and  eyeballs  almost  bursting  from  their  sockets, 
frozen  with  terror,  and  stared  stonily  and  fixedly,  as  we 
rushed  on — when  a  man,  gifted,  it  seemed,  with  super- 
human strength  and  activity,  darted  across  the  track 
right  in  front  of  the  train,  turned  the  switch,  and  we 
were  saved.  I  could  take  those  little  ones  home  in 


A   CLOSE   SHAVE.  25 

safety !  1  never  run  an  engine  over  that  road  after- 
wards. The  whole  thing  transpired  in  a  moment ;  but 
a  dozen  such  moments  were  worse  than  death,  and 
would  furnish  terror  and  agony  enough  for  a  lifetime. 


A  COLLISION. 


A  COLLISION. 


OF  the  various  kinds  of  accidents  that  may  befall  a 
railroad-man,  a  collision  is  the  most  dreaded,  because, 
generally,  the  most  fatal.  The  man  who  is  in  the  wreck, 
of  matter  that  follows  the  terrible  shock  of  two  trains 
colliding,  stands  indeed  but  a  poor  chance  to  escape  with 
either  life  or  limb.  No  combination  of  metal  or  wood 
can  be  formed  strong  enough  to  resist  the  tremendous 
momentum  of  a  locomotive  at  full  or  even  half  speed, 
suddenly  brought  to  a  stand-still ;  and  when  two  trains 
meet  the  result  is  even  more  frightful,  for  the  momentum 
is  not  only  doubled,  but  the  scene  of  the  wreck  is  length- 
ened, and  the  amount  of  matter  is  twice  as  great.  The 
two  locomotives  are  jammed  and  twisted  together,  and  the 
wrecked  cars  stretch  behind,  bringing  up  the  rear  of  the 

( 29) 


30  A   COLLISION. 

procession  of  destruction.  I,  myself,  never  had  a  collision 
with  another  engine,  but  I  did  collide  with  the  hind  end  of 
another  train  of  forty  cars,  which  was  standing  still,  at  the 
foot  of  a  heavy  grade,  and  into  which  I  ran  at  about  thir- 
ty-five miles  an  hour,  and  from  the  ninth  car  of  which  I 
made  my  way,  for  the  engine  had  run  right  into  it.  The 
roof  of  the  car  was  extended  over  the  engine,  and  the 
sides  had  bulged  out,  and  were  on  either  side  of  me.  The 
cars  were  all  loaded  with  flour.  The  shock  of  the  colli- 
sion broke  the  barrels  open  and  diffused  the  "Double 
Extra  Genesee  "  all  over ;  it  mingled  with  the  smoke  and 
steam  and  floated  all  round,  so  that  when,  during  the  sev- 
eral minutes  I  was  confined  there,  I  essayed  to  breathe,  I 
inhaled  a  compound  of  flour,  dust,  hot  steam  and  chok- 
ing smoke.  Take  it  altogether,  that  car  from  which,  as 
soon  as  I  could,  I  crawled,  was  a  little  the  hottest, 
most  dusty,  and  cramped  position  into  which  I  was  ever 
thrown.  To  add  to  the  terror-producing  elements  of  the 
scene,  my  fireman  lay  at  my  feet,  caught  between  the  ten- 
der and  the  head  of  the  boiler,  and  so  crushed  that  he 
never  breathed  from  the  instant  he  was  caught.  He  was 
crushed  the  whole  length  of  his  body,  from  the  left  hip  to 
the  right  shoulder,  and  compressed  to  the  thinness  of 


A   COLLISION.  31 

my  hand.  In  fact,  an  indentation  was  made  in  the  boiler 
where  the  tender  struck  it,  and  his  body  was  between 
boiler  and  tender !  The  way  this  accident  happened  was 
simple,  and  easily  explained.  The  freight  train  which  I 
was  to  pass  with  the  express  at  the  next  station,  broke 
down  while  on  this  grade.  The  breakage  was  trifling  and 
could  easily  be  repaired,  so  the  conductor  dispatched  a 
man  (a  green  hand,  that  they  paid  twenty-two  dollars  a 
month)  to  the  rear  with  orders,  as  the  night  was  very 
dark  and  rainy,  to  go  clear  to  the  top  of  the  grade,  a  full 

mile  off,  and  swing  his  red  light  from  the  time  he  saw 
» 

my  head  light,  which  he  could  see  for  a  mile,  as  the  track 
was  straight,  until  I  saw  it  and  stopped,  and  then  he  was 
to  tell  me  what  was  the  matter,  and  I,  of  course,  would 
proceed  with  caution  until  I  passed  the  train.  The  con- 
ductor was  thus  particular,  for  he  knew  he  was  a  green 
hand,  and  sent  him  back  only  because  he  could  be 
spared,  in  case  the  train  proceeded,  better  than  the  other 
man ;  and  he  was  allowed  only  two  brakemen.  Well,  with 
these  apparently  clear  instructions,  the  brakeman  went 
back  to  the  top  of  the  grade.  I  was  then  in  sight ;  he  gave, 
according  to  his  own  statement,  one  swing  of  the  lamp, 
and  it  went  out.  He  had  no  matches,  and  what  to  do  he 


32  A  COLLISION. 

didn't  know.  He  had  in  his  pocket,  to  be  sure,  a  half  a 
dozen  torpedoes,  given  to  him  expressly  for  such  emergen- 
cies, but  if  he  ever  knew  their  use,  he  was  too  big  a  fool 
to  use  the  knowledge  when  it  was  needed.  He  might,  to 
be  sure,  have  stood  right  in  the  track,  and,  by  swinging  his 
arms,  have  attracted  my  attention,  for  on  dark  nights  and 
on  roads  where  they  hire  cheap  men,  I  generally  kept  a 
close  lookout ;  and  if  I  saw  a  man  swinging  his  arms,  and, 
apparently  trying  to  see  how  like  a  madman  he  could  act, 
I  stopped  quick,  for  there  was  no  telling  what  was  the  mat- 
ter. But  this  fellow  was  too  big  a  fool  for  that  even.  He 
« 

turned  from  me  and  made  towards  his  own  train,  bellow- 
ing lustily,  no  doubt,  for  them  to  go  ahead,  but  they  were 
at  the  engine,  and  its  hissing  steam  made  too  much  noise 

for  them  to  hear,  even  had  he  been  within  ten  rods  of  them. 

* 
But  a  mile  away,  that  chance  was  pretty  slim,  and  yet 

on  it  hung  a  good  many  lives.  I  came  on,  running  about 
forty-five  miles  an  hour,  for  the  next  station  was  a  wood 
and  water  station,  and  I  wanted  time  there. 

I  discovered  the  red  light,  held  at  the  rear  of  the  train, 
when  within  about  fifteen  rods  of  it.  I  had  barely  time 
to  shut  off,  and  was  in  the  very  act  of  reversing  when  the 
collision  took  place.  The  tender  jumped  up  on  the  foot- 


A   COLLISION.  33 

board,  somehow  I  was  raised  at  the  same  time,  so  that  it 
did  not  catch  my  feet,  but  the  end  of  the  tank  caught  my 
hand  on  the  "  reverse  lever,"  which  I  had  not  time  to  let 
go,  and  there  I  was  fast.  The  first  five  cars  were  thrown 
clear  to  one  side  of  the  track,  by  the  impetus  of  my  train  ; 
the  other  four  were  crushed  like  egg-shells,  and  in  the 
ninth,  the  engine  brought  up.  I  was  fast ;  it  all  occurred 
in  a  second,  and  the  scene  was  so  confusing  and  rapid  that 
I  hardly  knew  when  my  hand  was  caught;  I  certainly 
should  not  have  known  where  but  for  the  locality  of  the 
piece  of  it  afterwards  found.  My  pain  was  awful,  for  not 
only  was  my  hand  caught,  but  the  wood  from  the  tender, 
as  I  crouched  behind  the  dome,  gave  my  body  a  most  hor- 
rible pummeling,  and  the  blinding  smoke  and  scalding 
steam  added  to  the  misery  of  my  position.  I  really  be- 
gan to  fear  that  I  should  have  to  stay  there  and  undergo  the 
slow,  protracted  torture  of  being  scalded  to  death  ;  but  with 
a  final  effort  I  jerked  my  hand  loose,  and  groped  my  way 
out.  My  clothes  were  saturated  with  moisture.  The 
place  had  been  so  hot  that  my  hands  peeled,  and  my  face 
was  blistered.  I  did  not  fully  recover  for  months.  But 
at  last  I  did  and  went  at  it  again,  to  run  into  the  doors 

of  death,  which  are  wide  open  all  along  every  mile  of  a 
3 


34  A  COLLISION. 

railroad,  and  into  which,  even  if  nature  does  not  let  you 
go,  some  fool  of  a  man,  who  is  willing  to  risk  his  own 
worthless  neck  in  such  scenes  for  twenty-five  dollars  a 
month,  will  contrive,  ten  chances  against  one,  by  his  stupid 
blundering  to  push  you. 


COLLISION  EXTRAORDINARY. 


COLLISION  EXTRAORDINARY. 


ONE  morning,  in  the  year  185-,  I  was  running  the 
Morning  Express,  or  the  Shanghae  run,  as  it  was  called,  on 
the  H.  road  in  New  York  state.  The  morning  was  foggy, 
damp  and  uncomfortable,  and  by  its  influence  I  was  de- 
pressed so  that  I  had  the  "  blues"  very  badly ;  I  felt  weary 
and  tired  of  the  life  I  was  leading,  dull  and  monotonous 
always,  save  when  varied  by  horror.  I  got  to  thinking  of 
the  poor  estimate  in  which  the  class  to  which  I  belonged 
was  held  by  the  people  generally,  who,  seated  in  the  easy- 
cushioned  seats  of  the  train,  read  of  battles  far  away — of 
deeds  of  heroism,  performed  amid  the  smoke  and  din  of 
bloody  wars, — and  their  hearts  swell  with  pride, — they 
glow  with  gladness  to  think  that  their  own  species  are  ca- 
pable of  such  daring  acts,  and  all  the  while  these  very 
(37) 


dO  COLLISION  EXTRAORDINARY. 

readers  are  skirting  the  edges  of  precipices,  to  look  down 
which  would  appall  the  stoutest  heart  and  make  the  strong- 
est nerved  man  thrill  with  terror ; — they  are  crossing 
deep,  narrow  gorges  on  gossamer-like  bridges ; — they  are 
passing  switches  at  terrific  speed,  where  there  is  but  an 
inch  of  space  between  smooth-rolling  prosperity  and  quick 
destruction ; — they  are  darting  through  dark,  gloomy  tun- 
nels, which  would  be  turned  into  graves  for  them,  were  a 
single  stone  to  be  detached  from  the  roof  in  front  of  the 
thundering  train ; — they  are  dragged  by  a  fiery-lunged, 
smoke-belching  monster,  in  whose  form  are  imprisoned 
death-dealing  forces  the  most  terrific.  And  mounted  upon 
this  fire-fiend  sits  the  engineer,  controlling  its  every  mo- 
tion, holding  in  his  hand  the  thread  of  every  life  on  the 
train,  which  a  single  act — a  false  move — a  deceived  eye, 
an  instant's  relaxation  of  thought  or  care  on  his  part, 
would  cut,  to  be  united  nevermore ;  and  the  train  thunders 
on,  crossing  bridges,  gullies  and  roads,  passing  through 
tunnels  and  cuts,  and  over  embankments.  The  engineer, 
firm  to  his  post,  still  regulates  the  breath  of  his  steam-de- 
mon and  keeps  his  eye  upon  the  track  ahead,  with  a  thou- 
sand things  upon  his  mind,  the  neglect  or  a  wrong  thought 
of  either  of  which  would  run  the  risk  of  a  thousand  lives ; 


COLLISION  EXTRAORDINARY.  39 

—and  these  readers  in  the  cars  are  still  absorbed  with  the 
daring  deeds  of  the  Zouaves  under  the  warm  sun  of  Italy, 
but  pay  not  a  thought  to  the  Zouave  upon  the  engine, 
who  every  day  rides  down  into  the  "  valley  of  death"  and 
charges  a  bridge  of  Magenta. 

But  to  return  to  this  dismal,  foggy  morning  that  I  be- 
gan to  tell  you  of.  It  was  with  some  such  thoughts  as 
these  that  I  sat  that  morning  upon  my  engine,  and  plunged 
into  the  fog-banks  that  hung  over  the  river  and  the  river- 
side. I  sat  so 

'•'  Absorbed  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing  " 

of  whether  it  must  always  be  so  with  me ;  whether  I 
should  always  be  chilled  with  this  indifference  and  want 
of  appreciation  in  my  waking  hours,  and  in  my  sleep  have 
this  horrible  responsibility  and  care  to  sit,  ghoul-like,  upon 
my  breast  and  almost  stifle  the  beating  of  my  heart ; — 
when  with  a  crash  and  slam  my  meditations  were  interrupt- 
ed, and  the  whole  side  of  the  "  cab,"  with  the  "  smoke- 
stack," "  whistle-stand  "  and  "  sand-box  "  were  stripped 
from  the  engine.  The  splinters  flew  around  my  head,  the 
escaping  steam  made  most  an  infernal  din,  and  the  "  fire- 
box" emitted  most  as  infernal  a  smoke,  and  I  was  en- 


40  COLLISION  EXTRAORDINARY. 

tirely  ignorant  of  what  was  up  or  the  extent  of  the  dam- 
age done.  As  soon  as  I  could  stop,  I  of  course,  after  see- 
ing that  every  thing  was  right  with  the  engine,  went 
back  to  see  what  was  the  cause  of  this  sudden  invasion 
upon  the  dreary  harmony  of  my  thoughts,  and  the  com- 
pleteness of  my  running  arrangements,  when  lo !  and  be- 
hold it  was  a  North  River  schooner  with  which  I  had 
collided.  It  had,  during  the  fog,  been  blown  upon  the 
shore,  and  into  its  "  bowsprit,"  which  projected  over  the 
track,  I  had  run  full  tilt. 

I  think  that  I  am  justified  in  calling  a  collision  between 
a  schooner  on  the  river  and  a  locomotive  on  the  rail,  a 
collision  extraordinary.  Readers,  do  not  you  ? 


BURNING  OF  THE  HENRY  CLAY. 


BURNING  OF  THE  HENRY  CLAY. 


THERE  is  one  reminiscence  of  my  life  as  a  "  railroad 
man"  that  dwells  in  my  memory  with  most  terrible  vivid- 
ness, one  that  I  often  think  of  in  daytime  with  shuddering 
horror ;  and  in  the  night,  in  dreams  of  appalling  terror, 
each  scene  is  renewed  in  all  the  ghastliness  of  the  reality, 
so  that  the  nights  when  I  dream  of  it  become  epochs  of 
miserable,  terrible  helplessness. 

It  was  on  a  clear,  bright  day  in  August.  The  fields 
were  covered  with  the  maturity  of  verdure,  the  trees  wore 
their  coronal  of  leaves  perfected,  the  birds  sang  gaily, 
and  the  river  sparkled  in  the  sun ;  and  I  sat  upon  my  en- 
gine, looking  ahead  mostly,  but  occasionally  casting  my 
eyes  at  the  vessels  on  the  river,  that  spread  their  white 
sails  to  the  breeze  and  danced  over  the  rippling  waters, 
(43) 


44          BURNING  OF  THE  HENRY  CLAY. 

looking  too  graceful  to  be  of  earth.  Among  the  craft 
upon  the  river  I  noticed  the  steamboat  "  Henry  Clay ;" 
another  and  a  rival  boat  was  some  distance  from  it,  and 
from  the  appearance  of  things  I  inferred  that  they  were 
racing.  I  watched  the  two  as  closely  as  I  could  for  some- 
time, and  while  looking  intently  at  the  "  Clay,"  I  saw  a 
d.-irk  column  of  thick  black  smoke  ascending  from  her, 
"  amidships,"  just  back  of  the  smoke-pipe.  At  first  I 
paid  little  heed  to  it,  but  soon  it  turned  to  fire,  and  the 
leaping  flames,  like  serpents,  entwined  the  whole  of  the 
middle  portion  of  the  boat  in  their  terrible  embrace. 
She  was  at  once  headed  for  the  shore,  and  came  rushing 
on,  trailing  the  thick  cloud  of  flame  and  smoke.  She 
struck  the  shore  near  where  I  had  stopped  my  train,  for, 
of  course,  seeing  such  a  thing  about  to  happen,  I  stopped 
to  enable  the  hands  and  passengers  to  render  what  assist- 
ance they  could.  The  burning  boat  struck  the  shore  by 
the  side  of  a  little  wharf,  right  where  the  station  of  "  Riv- 
erdale"  now  stands,  and  those  who  were  upon  the  forward 
part  of  her  decks  escaped  at  once  by  leaping  to  the  shore  ; 
but  the  majority  of  the  passengers,  including  all  of  the 
women  and  children,  were  on  the  after-part  of  the  boat, 
and  owing  to  the  centre  of  the  boat  being  entirely  en- 


BURNING    OF   THE   HENRY   CLAY.  45 

wrapped  by  the  hissing  flames,  they  were  utterly  unable 
to  get  to  the  shore.  So  they  were  cooped  up  on  the  ex 
treme  after-end  of  the  boat,  with  the  roaring  fire  forming 
an  impassable  barrier  to  prevent  their  reaching  the  land, 
and  the  swift-flowing  river  at  their  feet,  surging  and  bub- 
bling past,  dark,  deep,  and  to  most  of  them  as  certain 
death  as  the  flames  in  front.  The  fire  crept  on.  It  drove 
them  inch  by  inch  to  the  water.  The  strong  swimmers, 
crazed  by  the  heat,  wrapped  their  stalwart  arms  about 
their  dear  ones,  and  leaped  into  the  water.  Their  mutual 
struggles  impeded  each  other ;  they  sank  with  words  of 
love  and  farewell  bubbling  from  their  lips,  unheard  amidst 
the  roar  of  the  flames  and  hiss  of  the  water,  as  the  burn- 
ing timbers  fell  in  and  were  extinguished.  Women  raised 
their  hands  to  Heaven,  uttered  one  piercing,  despairing 
scream,  and  with  the  flames  enwrapping  their  clothing, 
leaped  into  the  stream,  which  sullenly  closed  over  them. 
Some  crawled  over  the  guards  and  hung  suspended  until 
the  fierce  heat  compelled  them  to  loose  their  hold  and  drop 
into  the  waves  below.  Mothers,  clasping  their  children  to 
their  bosoms,  knelt  and  prayed  God  to  let  this  cup  pass 
from  them.  Many,  leaping  into  the  water,  almost  gained 
the  shore,  but  some  piece  of  the  burning  wreck  would  fall 


46  BURNING   OF   THE   HENRY   CLAY. 

upon  them  and  crush  them  down.  Some  we  could  see 
kneeling  on  the  deck  until  the  surging  flames  and  blind- 
ing smoke  shrouded  them  and  hid  them  from  our  sight. 
One  little  boy  was  seen  upon  the  hurricane  roof,  just  as  it 
fell.  Entwined  in  each  other's  embrace,  two  girls  were 
seen  to  rush  right  into  the  raging  fire,  either  delirious  with 
the  heat  or  desirous  of  quickly  ending  their  dreadful  suffer- 
ings, which  they  thought  must  end  in  death.  And  we 
upon  the  shore  stood  almost  entirely  powerless  to  aid. 
Death-shrieks  and  despairing  cries  for  help,  prayer  and 
blasphemy,  all  mingled,  came  to  our  ear  above  the  roaring 
and  crackling  of  the  flames,  and  in  agony  and  the  terror 
of  helplessness  we  closed  our  ears  to  shut  out  the  horrid 
sounds.  The  intense  heat  of  the  fire  rendered  it  impossible 
for  us  to  approach  near  the  boat.  The  many  despairing 
creatures  struggling  in  the  water  made  it  almost  certain 
death  for  any  to  swim  out  to  help.  No  boats  were  near, 
except  the  boats  of  a  sloop  which  came  along  just  as  the 
fire  was  at  its  highest  and  were  unable  to  get  near  the 
wreck,  because  of  the  heat.  The  scene  among  the  sur- 
vivors was  most  terrible.  One  little  boy  of  about  seven, 
•was  running  around  seeking  his  parents  and  sisters.  Poor 
fellow !  his  search  was  vain,  for  the  scorching  flames  had 


BURNING  OF  THE  HENRY  CLAY.         47 

killed  them,  and  the  rapid  river  had  buried  them.  A 
mother  was  there,  nursing  a  dead  babe,  which  drowned  in 
her  arms,  as,  with  almost  superhuman  exertions,  she  strug- 
gled to  the  shore.  A  young  ladj  sat  by  the  side  of  her 
father,  lying  stark  and  stiff,  killed  by  a  falling  beam,  within 
twenty  feet  of  the  shore.  A  noble  Newfoundland  dog 
stood,  sole  guardian  of  a  little  child  of  three  or  four,  that 
he  had  brought  ashore  himself,  and  to  whom  we  could  find 
neither  kith  nor  kin  among  the  crowd.  His  dog,  play- 
mate of  an  hour  before,  was  now  the  saviour  of  his  life 
and  his  only  friend.  I  left  the  scene  with  my  train  when 
convinced  that  a  longer  stay  was  useless,  as  far  as  saving 
life  went. 

I  returned  that  afternoon,  and.  the  water  had  given  up 
many  of  its  dead.  Twenty-two  bodies  lay  stretched  upon 
the  shore — but  one  in  a  coffin,  and  she  a  bride  of  that 
morning,  with  the  wedding-dress  scorched  and  blackened, 
and  clinging  with  wet,  clammy  folds  to  her  stiff  and  rigid 
form.  Her  husband  bent  in  still  despair  over  her.  A 
little  child  lay  there,  unclaimed.  His  curly,  flaxen  hair 
that,  two  hours  before,  father  and  sisters  stroked  so  fondly, 
was  matted  around  his  forehead,  and  begrimed  with  the 
sand,  over  which  his  little  body  had  been  washed  to  the 


48  BURNING    OF   THE   HENRY   CLAY. 

river-bank.  His  little  lips,  that  a  mother  pressed  so  lately, 
now  were  black  with  the  slime  of  the  river-bed  in  which 
he  went  to  sleep.  An  old  man  of  seventy  was  there, 
sleeping  calmly  after  the  battle  of  life,  which  for  him  cul- 
minated with  horror  at  its  close.  In  short,  of  all  ages 
they  were  there,  lying  on  the  sand,  and  the  scene  I  shall 
never  forget.  Each  incident,  from  the  first  flashing  out 
of  the  flame  to  the  moment  when  I,  with  reverent  hands, 
helped  lay  them  in  their  coffins  and  the  tragedy  closed, 
is  photographed  forever  upon  my  mind. 


THE  CONDUCTOR 


THE  CONDUCTOR. 


A  RECENT  case  in  the  courts  of  this  county,  has  set  me 
to  thinking  of  some  of  the  wrongs  heaped  upon  railroad 
men  so  much,  that  I  shall  devote  this  article  exclusively 
to  a  review  of  the  opprobrium  bestowed  upon  all  men  con- 
nected with  railroads,  by  the  people  who  every  day  travel 
under  their  control,  with  their  lives  subject  to  the  care 
and  watchfulness  of  these  men,  for  whose  abuse  they 
leave  no  opportunity  to  escape.  Docs  a  train  run  off  the 
track,  and  thereby  mischief  be  worked,  every  possible 
circumstance  that  can  be  twisted  and  distcrted  into  a 
shape  such  as  to  throw  the  blame  upon  the  men  connected 
with  the  road,  is  so  twisted  and  distorted.  The  probabil- 
ity of  any  accident  happening  without  its  being  directly 
caused  by  the  scarcely  less  than  criminal  negligence  of 

(51) 


52  THE   CONDUCTOR. 

some  of  the  railroad  men,  is  always  scouted  by  the  dis- 
cerning public ;  most  of  whom  scarcely  know  the  differ- 
ence between  a  locomotive  and  a  pumping  engine.  An 
accident  caused  by  the  breaking  of  a  portion  of  the  ma- 
chinery of  a  locomotive  engine  on  the  Hudson  River  Rail- 
road, which  did  no  damage  except  to  cause  a  three  hours' 
detention,  was  by  some  enterprising  and  intelligent  (?) 
penny-a-liner  dignified  into  a  proof  of  the  general  incom- 
petency  of  railroad  men,  in  one  of  our  prominent  literary 
periodicals,  and  the  question  was  very  sagely  asked  why 
the  railroad  company  did  not  have  engines  that  would  not 
break  down,  or  engineers  that  would  not  allow  them  so  to 
do  ?  The  question  might,  with  equal  propriety,  be  asked, 
why  did  not  nature  form  trees,  the  timber  of  which  would 
not  rot  ?  Or,  why  did  not  nature  make  rivers  that  would 
not  overflow  ? 

Let  two  suits  be  brought  in  almost  any  of  our  courts, 
•  each  with  circumstances  of  the  same  aggravation,  say  for 
Assault  and  battery,  and  let  the  parties  in  one  be  ordinary 
citizens,  and  in  the  other,  let  one  party  be  a  railroad  man 
and  the  other  a  citizen,  with  whom,  for  some  cause,  the 
railroad  man  has  had  a  difficulty,  and  you  will  invariably 


THE   CONDUCTOR.  53 

see  the  railroad  man's  case  decided  against  him,  and  in 
the  other  case  the  defendant  be  acquitted,  to  go  scot-free. 
Why  is  this  ?  Simply,  I  think,  because  every  individual 
who  has  ever  suffered  from  the  hands  of  any  railroad  em- 
ployee, treasures  up  that  indignity,  and  lays  it  to  the  ac- 
count of  every  other  railroad  man  he  meets,  making  the 
class  suffer  in  his  estimation,  because  one  of  them  treated 
him  in  a  crusty  manner. 

If  a  man's  neighbor  or  friend  offend  him,  he  tries  to 
forgive  it — earnestly  endeavors  to  find  palliating  circum- 
stances ;  but,  in  the  case  of  railroad  men,  all  that  would 
palliate  the  offense  of  rudeness  and  want  of  courtesy, 
such  as  is  sometimes  shown,  is  studiously  ignored,  or,  at 
the  mildest,  forgotten. 

I  knew  a  school  teacher  once,  who  said  that  the  most 
barbarous  profession  in  the  world  was  that  of  teaching, 
because  it  drove  from  a  man  all  humanity.  He  got  into 
such  a  habit  of  ruling,  that  it  became  impossible  for  him 
to  understand  how  to  obey  any  one  himself. 

The  same  thing  might  be  said  of  a  railroad  conductor; 
for,  every  day  in  his  life,  he  takes  the  exclusive  control 
of  a  train  full  of  passengers  of  as  different  dispositions 
as  they  are  of  different  countenances.  Now,  he  meets 


54  THE   CONDUCTOR. 

with  a  testy,  quarrelsome  old  fellow,  who  is  given  to  fault- 
finding, and  who  blows  him  up  at  every  meeting.  Now, 
with  a  querulous  old  maid,  who  is  in  continual  fear  lest 
the  train  run  off  the  track,  the  boiler  burst,  or  the  con- 
ductor palm  off  some  bad  money  on  her.  Now,  with  a 
gent  of  an  inquisitive  turn  of  mind,  who  is  continually 
asking  the  distance  to  the  next  station,  and  the  time  the 
train  stops  there,  or  else  pulling  out  'an  old  turnip  of  a 
watch  and  comparing  his  time  with  the  conductor's.  Then, 
a  stupid,  dunderheaded  man  is  before  him,  who  does  not 
know  where  he  is  going,  nor  how  much  money  he  has  got. 
Then,  somebody  has  got  carried  by,  and  scolds  the  con- 
ductor for  it,  or  else  angrily  insists  that  the  train  be  im- 
mediately backed  up  for  his  especial  accommodation. 
The  next  man,  maybe,  is  an  Irishman,  made  gloriously 
happy  and  piggishly  independent,  by  the  aid  of  poor 
whiskey,  who  will  pay  his  fare  how  he  pleases,  and  when 
he  pleases ;  who  is  determined  to  ride  where  he  wants  to, 
and  who  will  at  once  jump  in  for  a  fight,  if  any  of  these 
rights  of  his  are  invaded ;  or,  mayhap,  he  will  not  pay  his 
fare  at  all,  deeming  that  his  presence  (scarcely  more  en- 
durable than  a  hog's)  is  sufficient  honor  to  remunerate 
the  company  for  his  ride ;  or  perhaps  his  "  brother  Tiddy, 


THE   CONDUCTOR.  55 

or  Pathrick,  or  Michael,  or  Dinnis  works  upon  the  thrack," 
and  "  bedad,  he'll  jist  ride  onyway."  All  these  char- 
acters are  found  in  any  train,  and  with  them  the  conduc- 
tor has  to  deal  every  day.  How  do  you  know,  when  he 
speaks  harshly  to  you,  but  that  he  has  just  had  a  confab 
with  one  of  these  gentry,  who  has  sorely  tried  his  pa- 
tience, and  riled  his  temper?  How  do  you  think  you 
would  fill  his  place,  were  you  subjected  to  such  annoy- 
ances all  the  time  ?  Would  you  be  able  at  all  times  to 
maintain  a  perfectly  correct  and  polite  exterior — a  Chris- 
tian gravity  of  demeanor — and  never  for  an  instant  for- 
get yourself,  or  lose  your  temper,  or  allow  your  manner 
to  show  to  any  one  the  slightest  acerbity?  You  know 
you  could  not;  and  yet,  for  being  only  thus  human,  you 
are  loud  in  your  denunciation  of  conductors  and  all  rail- 
road men,  and,  perhaps  honestly,  but  certainly  with  great 
injustice,  believe  them  to  have  no  care  for  your  wants,  no 
interest  in  your  comfort.  Treat  railroad  men  with  the 
same  consideration  that  you  evince  towards  other  business 
companions.  Consider  always  that  they  are  only  human 
— have  not  saintly  nor  angelic  tempers,  any  of  them,  and 
that  every  day's  experience  is  one  of  trial  and  provoca- 


56  TEE  CONDUCTOR. 

tion.  By  so  doing,  you  \vill  be  only  rendering  them  sim- 
ple justice,  and  you  will  yourself  receive  better  treatment 
than  if  you  attempt  to  make  the  railroad  man  your  meni- 
al, or  the  pack-horse  for  all  your  ill-feeling. 


BRAVERY  OF  AN  ENGINEER. 


BRAVERY  OF  AN  ENGINEER. 


THE  presence  of  mind  shown  by  railroad  men  is  a 
great  deal  talked  about ;  but  few,  I  think,  know  the  trying 
circumstances  under  which  it  must  be  exercised,  because 
they  have  never  thought  of,  and  are  not  familiar  enough 
with  the  details  of  the  business,  and  the  common,  every- 
day incidents  of  the  lives  of  railroad  men.  If  any  thing 
does  happen  to  a  train  of  cars,  or  an  engine,  it  comes  so 
suddenly,  and  is  all  over  so  quickly,  that  the  impulse, 
and  effort,  to  do  something  to  prevent  it,  must  be  instan- 
taneous, or  they  are  of  no  avail.  The  mind  must  devise, 
and  the  hands  spring  to  execute  at  once,  for  the  man  is 
on  a  machine  that  moves  like  the  wind-blast,  and  will 
snap  bands  and  braces  of  iron  or  steel  as  easily  as  the 
wild  horse  would  break  a  halter  of  thread. 

(59) 


60  BRAVERY   OF  AN   ENGINEER. 

The  engine,  while  under  the  control  of  its  master,  moves 
along  regularly  and  with  the  beauty  of  a  dream ;  its  wheels 
revolve,  glancing  in  the  sun  ;  its  exhausted  steam  coughs 
as  regularly  as  the  strong  man's  heart  beats,  and  trails 
back  over  the  train,  wreathing  itself  into  the  most  fantas- 
tic convolutions ;  now  sweeping  away  towards  the  sky  in  a 
grand,  white  pillar,  anon  twining  and  twisting  among  the 
gnarled  limbs  of  the  trees  beside  the  track,  and  the  train 
moves  on  so  fast  that  the  scared  bird  in  vain  tries  to  get 
out  of  its  way  by  flying  ahead  of  it.  Still  the  engineer 
sits  there  cool  and  calm ;  but  let  him  have  a  care, — let 
not  the  exhilaration  of  his  wild  ride  overcome  his  pru- 
dence, for  the  elements  he  controls  are,  while  under  his 
rule,  useful  and  easily  managed,  but  broken  loose,  they 
have  the  power  of  a  thousand  giants,  and  do  the  work 
of  a  legion  of  devils  in  almost  a  single  beat  of  the  pulse. 

A  man  can  easily  retain  his  presence  of  mind  where 
the  danger  depends  entirely  upon  him ;  that  is,  where  his 
maintaining  one  position,  or  doing  one  thing  resolutely, 
will  avert  the  catastrophe ;  but  under  circumstances  such 
as  frequently  beset  an  engineer,  where,  to  do  his  utmost, 
he  can  only  partially  avert  the  calamity,  then  it  is  that 
the  natural  bravery  and  acquired  courage  of  a  man  is 


BKAVERY   OF  AN  ENGINEER.  61 

tried  to  the  utmost  extent.  I  remember  several  instances 
of  this  kind,  where  engineers,  in  full  view  of  the  awful 
danger  which  threatened  them,  knowing  too  well  the  ter- 
rible chances  of  death  that  were  against  them  and  the 
passengers  under  their  charge,  even  if  they  did  main- 
tain their  positions,  and,  by  using  all  their  exertions,  suc- 
ceeded in  slightly  reducing  the  shock  of  the  collision,  which 
could  only  be  modified — not  averted — still  stuck  to  their 
posts,  did  their  utmost,  and  rode  into  the  other  train  and 
met  their  death,  amid  the  appalling  scenes  of  the  chaotic 
ruin  which  followed. 

George  D was  running  the  Night  Express  on  the 

road.  I  was  then  running  the  freight  train,  which  laid 
over  at  a  station  for  George  to  pass.  -One  night — it 
was  dark  and  dismal — the  rain  had  been  pouring  down  in 
torrents  all  night  long;  I  arrived  with  my  train,  went 
in  upon  the  switch  and  waited  for  George,  who  passed 
on  the  main  track  without  stopping.  Owing  to  the  storm 
and  the  failure  of  western  connections,  George  was  some 
thirty  minutes  behind,  and  of  course  came  on,  intending 
to  run  though  the  station  pretty  fast— a  perfectly  safe 
proceeding,  apparently,  for  the  switches  could  not  be 
turned  wrong  without  changing  the  lights,  and  these  be- 


62  BRAVERY   OF  AN   ENGINEER. 

ing  "  bull's-eye"  lanterns  elevated  so  that  they  could  be 
seen  a  great  distance  on  the  straight  track  which  was 
there,  no  change  could  be  made  without  the  watchful  eye 
of  the  engineer  seeing  it  at  once.  So  George  came  on,  at 
about  thirty-five  miles  an  hour,  as  near  as  I  could  judge, 
and  I  was  watching  him  all  the  time.  He  was  within 
about  three  times  the  length  of  his  train  of  the  switch — 
was  blowing  his  whistle — when  I  saw,  and  he  saw  the 
switchman  run  madly  out  of  his  "  shanty,"  grab  the  switch 
and  turn  it  so  that  it  would  lead  him  directly  into  the  hind 
end  of  my  train.  I  jumped,  instinctively,  to  start  my  en- 
gine— I  heard  him  whistle  for  brakes,  and  those  that  stood 
near  said  that  he  reversed  his  engine — but  my  train  was  too 
heavy  for  me  to  move  quickly,  and  he  was  too  near  to  do 
much  good  by  reversing,  so  I  soon  felt  a  heavy  concus- 
sion, and  knew  that  he  had  struck  hard,  for,  at  the  other 
end  of  forty-five  cars,  it  knocked  me  down,  and  the  jar 
broke  my  engine  loose  from  the  train.  He  might  have 
jumped  from  his  engine  with  comparative  safety,  after  he 
saw  the  switch  changed,  for  the  ground  was  sandy  there 
and  free  from  obstructions ;  and  he  could  easily  have 
jumped  clear  of  the  track  and  escaped  with  slight  bruises. 
But  no!  Behind  him,  trusting  to  him,  and  resting  in 


BKAVERY   OF  AN   ENGINEER.  63 

comparative  security,  were  hundreds  to  whom  life  was  as 
dear  as  to  him ;  his  post  was  at  the  head ;  to  the  great 
law  of  self-preservation,  that  most  people  put  first  in  their 
code  of  practice,  his  stern  duty  required  him  to  forswear 
allegiance,  and  to  act  on  the  principle,  "  others  first,  my- 
self afterwards."  So,  with  a  bravery  of  heart  such  as 
is  seldom  found  in  other  ranks  of  men,  he  stuck  to  his 
iron  steed,  transformed  then  into  the  white  steed  of  death, 
and  spent  the  last  energies  of  his  life,  the  strength  of  his 
last  pulse,  striving  to  mitigate  the  suffering  which  would 
follow  the  collision.  His  death  was  instantaneous ;  he 
had  no  time  for  regrets  at  leaving  life  and  the  friends  he 
loved  so  dearly.  When  we  found  him,  one  hand  grasped 
the  throttle,  his  engine  was  reversed,  and  with  the  other 
hand  he  still  held  on  to  the  handle  of  the  sand-box  lever. 
The  whole  middle  and  lower  portion  of  his  body  was 
crushed,  but  his  head  and  arms  were  untouched,  and  his 
face  still  wore  a  resolute,  self-sacrificing  expression,  such 
as  must  have  lit  up  the  countenance  of  Arnold  Winkle- 
ried,  when  crying,  "  Make  way  for  liberty"  he  threw  him- 
self upon  a  sheaf  of  Austrian  spears  and  broke  the  col- 
umn of  his  enemies. 

I  find  in  nearly  every  cemetery  that  I  visit,  monuments 


64  BRAVERY   OP  AN   ENGINEER. 

and  memorial-stones  to  some  brave  man  who  fell  and  died 
amid  the  smoke  and  flame  and  hate  of  a  battle-field ;  and 
orators  and  statesmen,  ministers  and  newspapers,  exhaust 
the  fountains  of  eloquence  to  extol  the  "illustrious  dead." 

But  George  D ,  who  spent  his  life  in  a  constant  bat 

tie  with  the  elements,  who  waged  unequal  war  with  time 
and  space,  who  at  last  chose  rather  to  die  himself  than 
to  bring  death  or  injuries  to  others,  sleeps  in  the  quiet  of 
a  country  church-yard.  The  wailing  wind,  sighing  through 
the  few  trees  there,  sings  his  only  dirge ;  a  plain  stone, 
bought  by  the  hard  won  money  of  his  companions  in  life, 
alone  marks  his  resting-place.  The  stranger,  passing  by, 
would  scarcely  notice  it ;  but  who  shall  dare  to  tell  me  that 
there  resteth  not  there  a  frame,  from  which  a  soul  has 
flown,  as  noble  as  any  that  sleeps  under  sculptured  urn  or 
slab,  over  which  thousands  have  mused,  and  which  has 
been  the  text  of  hundreds  of  exhortations  to  patriotism 
and  self-forgetfulness  ? 


THE  FIREMAN 


THE  FIREMAN. 


THE  fireman,  the  engineer's  /e#-hand  man,  his  trump 
card,  without  whom  it  would  be  difficult  for  him  to  get 
over  the  road,  is  seen  but  little,  and  thought  but  little  of. 
He  is  usually  dirty  and  greasy,  wearing  a  ragged  pair  of 
overalls,  originally  blue,  but  now  embroidered  so  with  oil 
and  dust,  that  they  are  become  a  smutty  brown.  Just 
before  the  train  leaves  the  station,  you  will  see  his  face, 
down  which  streams  the  perspiration,  looking  back,  watch- 
ing for  the  signal  to  start;  for  this  is  one  of  his  many 
duties.  His  head  is  usually  ornamented  (in  his  opinion) 
with  some  outlandish  cap  or  hat ;  though  others  regard  it 
as  a  fittingly  outrageous  cap-sheaf  to  his  general  dirty 
and  outre  appearance.  But  little  cares  Mr.  Fireman ;  he 
runs  the  fire-box  of  that  "  machine."  He  feels  pride  in 
the  whole  engine ;  and  when  he  sees  any  one  admiring  its 

(67) 


68  THE  FIREMAN. 

polished  surface,  gleaming  so  brightly  in  the  sun,  flashing 
so  swiftly  by  the  farm-houses  on  the  road  (in  each  of 
which  Mr.  Fireman  has  acquaintance  of  the  opposite  sex, 
to  whom  he  must  needs  swing  his  handkerchief),  he  feels 
a  glow  of  honest  satisfaction;  and  the  really  splendid 
manner  in  which  his  efforts  have  caused  it  to  shine — 
which  is  evidently  one  great  reason  for  the  admiration  be- 
stowed upon  it — so  fills  him  with  self  gratulation  that,  in  his 
great  modesty,  which  he  fears  will  be  overcome  if  he 
stays  there  much  longer  watching  people  as  they  admire 
his  handiwork,  and  he  be  led  to  tell  them  all  about  it,  hovr 
he  scrubbed  and  scoured  to  bring  her  to  that  pitch  of  per- 
fection— he  turns  away,  and  begins  to  pitch  the  wood 
about  in  the  most  reckless  manner  imaginable ;  yet  every 
stick  goes  just  where  he  wants  it. 

His  aspirations  (and  he  has  them,  my  lily-handed 
friend,  as  well  as  you,  and  perhaps,  though  not  so  ele- 
vated, more  honorable  than  yours)  are,  that  he  may,  by 
attending  to  his  own  duties,  so  attract  the  attention  of 
the  ones  in  authority  that  he  may  be  placed  in  positions 
where  he  can  learn  the  business,  and,  by  and  by,  himself 
have  charge  of  an  engine  as  its  runner.  It  does  not  seem 
a  very  high  ambition ;  but,  to  attain  it,  he  undergoes  a 


THE  FIREMAN.  69 

probation  seldom  of  less  than  three,  frequently  of  seven 
or  eight  years,  at  the  hardest  kind  of  work,  performed, 
too,  where  dangers  are  thick  around  him,  and  his  chances 
to  avert  them  very  slim.  His  duties  are  manifold  and 
various ;  but  long  years  of  attendance  to  them  makes  them 
very  monotonous  and  irksome,  and  he  would  soon  weary 
of  them,  did  not  the  hope  of  one  day  being  himself  sole 
master  of  the  "  iron  horse,"  actuate  him  to  renewed  dili- 
gence and  continued  efforts  to  excel.  He  is  on  duty 
longer  than  any  other  man  connected  with  the  train.  He 
must  be  on  hand  before  the  engine  comes  out  of  the  shop, 
to  start  a  fire  and  see  that  all  is  right  about  the  engine. 
Usually  he  brings  it  out  upon  the  track ;  and  then,  when 
all  is  ready,  he  begins  the  laborious  work  of  throwing 
wood ;  which  amounts  to  the  handling  of  from  four  to 
seven  cords  of  wood  per  diem,  while  the  engine  and  ten- 
der are  pitching  and  rolling  so  that  a  "  green-horn"  would 
find  it  hard  work  to  stand  on  his  feet,  let  alone  having, 
while  so  standing,  to  keep  that  fiery  furnace  supplied  with 
fuel.  The  worse  the  day,  the  more  the  snow  or  rain 
blows,  the  harder  his  work.  His  hands  become  calloused 
with  the  numerous  wounds  he  receives  from  splinters  on 
the  wood.  He  it  is  who  has  to  go  out  on  the  runboard 


70  THE  FIREMAN. 

and  oil  the  valves,  while  the  engine  is  running  full  speed. 
No  matter  how  cold  the  wind  may  blow,  how  rain,  hail, 
sleet,  or  snow  may  beat  down  upon  him,  covering  every 
thing  with  ice,  nor  how  dark  the  night,  out  there  he  must 
go  and  crawl  along  the  slippery  side  of  the  engine  to  do 
his  work.  At  stations  he  must  take  water,  and  when  at 
last  the  train  arrives  at  its  destination,  and  others  are 
ready  to  go  home,  he  must  stay.  If  a  little  too  much 
wood  is  in  the  fire-box,  he  must  take  it  out,  and  then  go  to 
work  cleaning  and  scouring  the  dust  and  rust  from  off  the 
bright  work  and  from  the  boiler.  Every  bit  of  cleaning 
in  the  cab  and  above  the  runboard,  including  the  cylinders 
and  steam-chest,  must  be  done  by  him ;  and  any  one  who 
will  look  at  the  fancy-work  on  some  of  our  modern  loco- 
motives, can  judge  something  of  what  he  has  to  do  after 
the  day's  work  on  the  road  is  done.  Every  thing  is  brass, 
or  covered  with  brass ;  and  all  must  be  kept  polished  like 
a  mirror,  or  the  fireman  is  hauled  over  the  coals. 

For  performing  these  manifold  duties,  he  receives  the 
magnificent  sum  of  (usually)  thirty  dollars  per  month; 
and  he  knows  no  Sundays,  no  holidays — on  long  roads,  he 
scarcely  knows  sleep.  He  has  not  the  responsibility  rest- 
ing oa  him  that  there  is  upon  the  engineer ;  but  it  is  re- 


THE  FIREMAN.  71 

quired  of  him,  when  not  otherwise  engaged  with  his  duty 
of  firing,  to  assist  the  engineer  in  keeping  a  lookout 
ahead.  His  position  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  on  the 
train,  as  is  proved  by  the  frequent  occurrence  of  accidents, 
where  only  the  fireman  is  killed  ;  and  his  only  obituary, 
no  matter  how  earnest  he  may  have  been,  how  faithful  in 
the  performance  of  his  duties,  is  an  item  in  the  tele- 
graphic reports,  that  a  fireman  was  killed  in  such  a  rail- 
road smash.  He  may  have  been  one  of  nature's  noble- 
men. A  fond  mother  and  sweet  sisters  may  have  been 
dependent  on  his  scanty  earnings  for  their  support.  No 
matter ;  the  great  surging  tide  of  humanity  that  daily 
throngs  these  avenues  of  travel,  has  not  time  to  inquire 
after,  nor  sympathy  to  waste  upon,  a  greasy  wood-passer, 
whom  they  regard  as  simply  a  sort  of  piece  in  the  ma- 
chinery of  the  road,  not  half  so  essential  as  a  valve  or 
bolt,  for  if  he  be  lost,  his  place  can  be  at  once  supplied ; 
but  if  a  bolt  or  other  essential  piece  of  the  iron  machinery 
give  out,  it  will  most  likely  cause  a  vexatious  delay. 
Once  in  a  while  a  fireman  performs  some  heroic  act  that 
brings  him  into  a  momentary  notoriety,  and  opens  the 
eyes  of  the  few  who  may  be  cognizant  of  the  case,  to  the 
fact  that,  on  a  railroad,  all  men  are  in  danger,  and  that 


72  THE  FIREMAN. 

the  most  humble  of  them  may  perform  some  self-sacrifi- 
cing deed  that  will,  at  the  expense  of  his  own,  save  many 
other  lives. 

In  a  collision  that  occurred  at  a  station  on  one  of  the 
roads  in  New  York  state,  the  engineer,  a  relative  of  some 
of  the  managers  of  the  road,  who  had  fired  only  half  so 
long  as  the  man  then  firing  for  him,  jumped  from  the  en- 
gine, leaving  it  to  run  at  full  speed  into  the  hind  end  of  a 
train  standing  on  a  branch  track,  of  which  the  switch  was 
wrong ;  not  doing  a  single  thing  to  avert  or  mitigate  the 
calamity ;  fearing  only  for  his  own  precious  neck,  which  a 
hemp  cravat  would  ornament,  to  the  edification  of  the 
world.  The  fireman  sprang  at  once  to  the  post  vacated 
by  the  engineer,  reversed  the  engine,  opened  the  sand-box 
valve,  and  rode  into  the  hind  end  of  that  train ;  losing, 
in  so  doing,  a  leg  and  an  arm.  He  has  been  most  muni- 
ficently rewarded  for  his  heroism,  being  now  employed  to 
attend  a  crossing  and  hold  a  flag  for  passing  trains,  and 
receiving  the  princely  compensation  of  twenty-five  dollars 
per  month ;  while  the  engineer,  who  deserted  his  post 
and  left  all  to  kind  Providence,  is  running  on  the  road  at 
a  salary  of  seventy-five  per  month. 


THE  BRAKEMAN. 


THE  BRAKEMAN. 


A  VERY  humble  class  of  railroad  men,  a  class  that  gets 
poorer  pay  in  proportion  to  the  work  they  do  and  the  dan- 
gers they  run  than  any  other  upon  a  road,  are  the  brake- 
men.  Though  perhaps  less  responsibility  rests  upon  them, 
they  are  placed  in  the  most  dangerous  position  on  the  train ; 
they  are  expected  to  be  at  their  posts  at  all  times,  and  to 
flinch  from  no  contingency  which  may  arise.  The  man- 
agers of  a  railroad  expect  and  demand  the  brakemen  to 
be  as  prompt  in  answering  the  signals  of  the  engineer  as 
the  throttle-valve  is  obedient  to  his  touch. 

Reader,  were  you  ever  on  a  train  of  cars  moving  with 
the  wings  of  the  wind,  skimming  over  the  ground  as 
rapidly  as  a  bird  flies,  darting  by  tree  and  house,  through 
cuttings  and  over  embankments  ?  and  did  you  ever  feel  a 

(75) 


76  THE   BRAKEMAN. 

sudden  jar  that  almost  jerked  you  from  your  seat  ?  At  the 
same  time  did  you  hear  a  sharp,  sudden  blast  of  the 
whistle,  ringing  out  as  if  the  hand  that  pulled  it  was  nerved 
by  the  presence  of  danger,  braced  by  a  terrible  anxiety 
to  avoid  destruction?  It  frightened  you,  did  it  not? 
But  did  you  notice  the  brakeman  then  ?  He  rushed 
madly  out  of  the  cars  as  if  he  thought  the  train  was  go- 
ing to  destruction  surely,  and  he  wished,  before  the  crash 
came,  to  be  out  of  it.  No,  that  was  not  his  object.  He 
caught  hold  of  the  brakes  and,  with  all  the  force  and  en- 
ergy he  was  capable  of  exerting,  applied  them  to  the 
swift-revolving  wheels,  and  when  you  felt  the  gradual  re- 
duction of  the  speed  under  the  pressure  of  the  brakes, 
you  began  to  feel  easier.  But  what  thought  the  brake- 
man all  the  time  ?  Did  he  think  that,  if  the  danger 
ahead  was  any  one  of  a  thousand  which  might  happen  ? 
if  another  train  was  coming  towards  them,  and  they 
should  strike  it  ?  if  a  disabled  engine  was  on  the  track, 
and  a  fool,  to  whom  the  task  was  intrusted,  had  neglected 
to  give  your  train  the  signal  ?  if  the  driving  rain  had 
raised  some  little  stream,  or  a  spark  of  fire  had  lodged  in 
a  bridge  and  the  bridge  was  gone  ?  if  some  loosened  rock 
had  rolled  down  upon  the  track ;  or  if  the  track  had  slid ; 


THE   BRAKEMAN.  77 

or  if  some  wretch,  wearing  a  human  form  over  a  hellish 
soul,  had  lifted  a  rail,  placed  a  tie  on  the  track,  to  hurl  en- 
gine and  car  therefrom  ? — if  any  of  these  things  were 
ahead  and  the  speed  of  your  train  be  too  great  to  stop, 
and  go  plunging  into  it,  did  he  realize  that  he  was  the 
first  man  to  be  caught;  that  those  two  cars  between 
which  he  stood,  straining  every  nerve  to  do  his  share  to 
avert  the  catastrophe,  would  come  together  and  crush  him, 
as  he  would  crush  a  worm  beneath  his  tread  ?  If  he  did, 
he  was  doing  his  duty  in  that  dangerous  place,  risking  his 
life  at  a  pretty  cheap  rate — a  dollar  a  day — wasn't  he  ? 
And  still  these  men  do  this  every  day  for  the  same  price 
and  at  the  same  risk,  while  the  passengers  regard  them  as 
necessary  evils,  who  will  be  continually  banging  the  doors. 
So  they  pass  them  by,  never  giving  them  a  kind  word, 
scarcely  ever  thanking  them  for  the  many  little  services 
which  they  unhesitatingly  demand  of  them,  and,  if  the 
passenger  has  ridden  long,  and  the  jolting  and  jarring, 
the  want  of  rest,  or  wearisome  monotony  of  the  long  ride 
has  made  him  peevish,  how  sure  he  is  to  vent  his  spite  on 
the  brakeman,  because  he  thinks  him  the  most  humble, 
and  therefore  the  most  unprotected  man  on  the  train. 
And  the  brakeman  endures  it  all ;  for  if  he  answers  back 


78  THE  BRAKEMAN. 

a  word,  if  he  asserts  his  manhood — which  many  seem  to 
think  he  has  sold  for  his  paltry  thirty  dollars  a  month — 
why,  he  is  reported  at  the  office,  a  garbled  version  of  the 
affair  is  given,  and  the  brakeman  is  discharged. 

But  have  a  care,  0 !  most  chivalrous  passenger,  you 
who  fly  into  such  a  passion  if  your  .dignity  is  offended  by 
a  short  answer.  You  may  quarrel  with  a  man  having  a 
soul  in  him  beside  which  yours  would  look  most  pitifully 
insignificant ;  one  who,  were  the  dread  signal  to  sound, 
would  rush  out  into  the  danger,  and,  throwing  himself  into 
the  chasm,  die  for  you,  amid  all  the  appalling  scenes  of 
the  chaotic  wreck  of  that  train  of  cars,  as  coolly,  as  de- 
terminately,  as  unselfishly  as  the  Stuart  queen  barred 
the  door  with  her  own  fair  arm,  that  her  liege  lord  might 
escape.  And  then,  methinks,  you  would  feel  sad  when  you 
saw  his  form  stretched  there  dead,  all  life  crushed  out 
of  it — once  so  comely,  now  so  mangled  and  unsightly — 
and  thought  that,  with  that  poor  handful  of  dust  from 
which  the  soul  took  flight  so  nobly,  you  had  just  been 
picking  a  petty  quarrel. 

If  you  have  read  the  accounts  of  railroad  accidents 
as  carefully  and  with  such  thrilling  interest  as  I  have, 
you  will  remember  many  incidents  where  brakemen  were 


THE   BRAKEMAN.  79 

killed  while  at  their  post,  discharging  their  duty.  Sev- 
eral have  come  under  my  immediate  observation.  On  the 
H.  R.  R.  one  night  I  was  going  over  the  road,  "  extra," 
that  is,  I  was  not  running  the  engine,  but  riding  in  the  car. 
I  heard  a  sharp  whistle,  but  thought  it  was  not  of  much 
consequence,  for  I  knew  the  engineer's  long  avowed  in- 
tention, to  never  call  the  brakemen  to  their  posts  when 
the  danger  could  be  avoided  ;  he  said  he  would  give 
them  a  little  chance,  not  call  them  where  they  had  none. 
The  brakemen  all  sprang  to  their  posts ;  the  one  in  the  car 
where  I  was  I  saw  putting  on  his  brake ;  the  next  instant, 
with  a  shock  that  shook  every  thing  loose  and  piled  the 
seats,  passengers,  stove,  and  pieces  of  the  roof  all  into 
a  mass  in  the  forward  end  of  the  car,  the  engine  struck 
a  rock,  the  cars  were  all  piled  together,  and  I  was  pitch- 
ed into  the  alley  up  close  to  the  end  which  was  all  stove 
in.  I  felt  blood  trickling  on  my  hands,  but  thought  it 
was  from  a  wound  I  had  received  on  my  head.  I  soon 
found  that  it  was  from  Charley  McLoughlin,  the  brake- 
man  with  whom  I  had  just  been  talking,  and  whom  I 
saw  go  to  his  post  at  the  first  signal  of  danger.  The 
whole  lower  part  of  his  body  was  crushed,  but  he  yet 
lived.  We  got  him  out  as  soon  as  possible  and  laid  him  be- 


80  THE  BRAKEMAN. 

side  the  track  on  a  door,  then  went  to  get  the  rest  of  the 
dead  and  wounded.  We  found  one  of  the  brakemen 
dead,  his  head  mashed  flat ;  the  other  one,  Joe  Barnard, 
was  hurt  just  as  Charley  was,  and  as  they  were  insepa- 
rable companions,  we  laid  them  together.  I  took  their 
heads  in  my  lap — we  did  not  try  .to  move  them,  as  the 
physicians  said  they  could  not  live — and  there  for  four 
long  hours  I  sat  and  talked  with  those  men  whose  lives 
were  surely,  but  slowly  ebbing  away.  In  life  they  were 
as  brothers,  and  death  did  not  separate  them,  for  they  de- 
parted within  fifteen  minutes  of  each  other.  But  notice 
this  fact — the  brakeman  who  was  found  dead,  still  held  in 
his  hand  the  shattered  brake-wheel,  and  Joe  Barnard  was 
crushed  with  both  hands  still  grasping  his.  Yet  these 
men  were  "  only  brakemen !  " 


A  DREAM  IN  THE  "CABOOSE." 


A  DREAM  IN  THE  "CABOOSE." 


A  FIRST  thought  of  the  life  of  an  engineer  would  be  that 
it  was  a  life  peculiarly  exhilarating ;  that  in  the  mind  of 
an  engineer  the  rush  and  flow  of  strong  feeling  and  emo- 
tion would  constantly  be  felt ;  that  the  every-day  incidents 
of  his  life  would  keep  his  nerves  continually  on  the  stretch, 
and  that  lassitude  would  never  overtake  him.  But  such 
is  not  the  case.  I  know  of  no  life  that  a  man  could  live 
which  would  more  certainly  produce  stagnation  than  it. 
Every  day,  in  sunshine  or  storm,  cold  or  heat,  light  or 
darkness,  he  goes  through  the  same  scenes,  bearing  the 
same  burdens  of  care  and  responsibility,  facing  the  same 
dangers,  braving  grim  death  ever  and  all  the  time  until 
he  loses  fear,  and  the  novelty  of  the  at  first  exhilarating 
effort  to  conquer  space  and  distance,  and  make  time  of  no 
account,  wears  away,  till  danger  becomes  monotonous,  and 

(83) 


84  A  DREAM  IN  THE   "  CABOOSE." 

only  an  occasional  scene  of  horror  checkers  the  unchang- 
ing current  of  his  every-day  life.  He  knows  every  tie 
on  the  road ;  he  knows  that  here  is  a  bad  curve,  there  a 
•weak  bridge,  from  either  of  which  he  may  at  any  time,  by 
the  most  probable  of  possibilities,  be  hurled  to  his  death  ; 
and  still  every  day  he  rides  his  "iron  horse,"  of  fiery 
heart  and  demon  pulse,  over  the  weak  places  and  the 
strong,  posted  at  the  very  front  of  the  procession,  which 
any  one  of  a  thousand  contingencies  would  make  a  funeral 
train.  He  passes  the  same  stations,  blows  his  whistle  at 
the  same  point,  sees  the  same  men  at  work  in  the  same 
fields,  with  the  same  horses  that  they  used  last  year  and 
the  year  before.  Two  lines  of  iron  stretch  before  him, 
to  demand  and  receive  his  earnest  scrutiny  every  day, 
precisely  as  they  have  every  day  for  years. 

He  meets  the  same  men  on  other  trains  at  the  same 
places,  and  bids  them  "  hail "  and  "  good-bye  "  with  the 
same  uncertainty  of  ever  seeing  them  again  that  he  has 
always  felt,  and  which  has  grown  so  sadly  wearisome. 

He  alone  knows  and  appreciates  the  chances  against 
him,  but  his  daily  bread  depends  upon  his  running  them, 
so  with  a  resolute  will  that  soon  gets  to  be  the  merest 
trusting  to  luck,  he  goes  ahead,  controlled  by  the  same 


A  DREAM  IN  THE   "CABOOSE."  85 

rules,  which  always  have  the  same  dreary  penalties  at- 
tached to  them  when  violated, — a  maimed  and  disfigured 
body  for  the  balance  of  his  days,  or  a  sudden  and  inglo- 
rious death. 

If  one  of  his  intimate  companions  gets  killed,  he  can 
only  bestow  a  passing  thought  upon  it,  for  he  has  not  been 
unexpectant  of  it,  and  he  knows  full  well  that  the  same 
accident  may  at  the  same  place  make  it  his  turn  next,  as 
he  passes  over  the  same  road  every  day,  running  the  same 
chances,  as  did  his  friend  just  gone. 

I  had,  while  I  was  on  the  H road,  a  particular 

friend,  an  engineer.  We  were  inseparable,  and  were 
both  of  us,  alike,  given  to  fits  of  despondency,  at  which 
times  we  would,  with  choking  dread,  bid  each  other  fare- 
well, and  "  hang  around"  the  telegraph  office  to  hear  the 
welcome  "  0  K"  from  the  various  stations,  signifying  that 
our  trains  had  passed  "  on  time"  and  "  all  right." 

One  Saturday  night,  when  my  engine  was  to  "  lay  over" 
for  the  Sunday  at  the  upper  end  of  the  road,  I  determined 

to  go  back  to  N .  The  only  train  down  that  night, 

was  the  one  o'clock  "  night  freight,"  which  Charley, 
my  friend,  was  to  tow  with  the  "  Cumberland,"  a  heavy, 
clumsy  "  coal-burner."  I  went  to  the  engine-house,  and 


86  A  DREAM  IN  THE   "CABOOSE." 

sat  down  with  Charley,  to  smoke  and  talk  till  his  "  leav- 
ing time"  came.  He  had  the  blues  that  night,  and 
after  we  had  talked  awhile,  I  had  them  too.  So  we  sat 
there  slowly  puffing  our  pipes,  recalling  gloomy  tales  of 
our  own,  and  of  others'  experience ;  telling  of  unlucky 
engines  (a  favorite  superstition  with  many  engineers), 
and  of  unlucky  men,  and  of  bad  places  on  the  road,  weak 
bridges,  loose  rails,  shelving  rocks,  and  bad  curves,  until 
we  had  got  ourselves  into  the  belief  that  nothing  short  of 
a  miracle  could  possibly  enable  even  a  hand-car  to  pass 
over  the  road  in  any  thing  like  safety.  Had  any  of  the 
passengers  who  daily  passed  over  the  road,  in  the  compar- 
ative safety  of  its  sumptuous  coaches,  been  there  and  heard 
our  description  of  the  road,  I  guess  they  would  have  tak- 
en lodgings  at  the  nearest  hotel,  sooner  than  have  ridden 
over  the  road  that  night,  towed  by  that  engine,  which 
Charley  had  more  than  once  characterized  as  a  "  death- 
trap" and  "man-killer,"  and  proven  her  right  to  the 
name  by  alluding  to  the  four  men  she  had  killed.  At 
length  the  hours  had  dragged  themselves  along,  and  the 
"  Cumberland"  was  coupled  to  the  train.  As  I  started 
for  the  "Caboose,"  Charley  said  to  me,  "The  'Cum- 
berland' always  was  and  always  will  be  an  unlucky 


A   DREAM   IN   THE   "  CABOOSE."  87 

engine,  and  blamed  if  I  know  but  she  will  kill  me  to- 
night, so  let's  shake  hands,  and  good-bye."  We  shook 
hands,  and  I  clambered  into  the  "  Caboose,"  having,  it  must 
be  confessed,  a  sneaking  kind  of  good  feeling  to  think  that 
I  was  at  the  rear  instead  of  the  front  end  of  those  forty 
cars,  especially  as  the  engine  was  one  that,  despite  my 
reason  and  better  judgment,  I  more  than  half-believed  was 
"  cursed"  with  "  ill-luck;"  by  which  I  mean,  she  was  pe- 
culiarly liable  to  fatal  accidents.  Well,  I  curled  myself 
up  on  one  of  the  seats  and  prepared  for  sleep ;  not, 
though,  in  just  the  frame  of  mind  I  would  choose  in  order 
to  secure  "  pleasant  slumbers"  and  "  sweet  dreams." 
At  first  my  sleep  was  fitful ;  the  opening  of  the  door,  as 
the  hands  frequently  went  out  or  came  in ;  the  cessation 
of  the  jar  and  rumble  when  the  train  stopped ;  the  chang- 
ing of  position  as  I  tossed  about  in  my  fitful  sleep — these 
all  would  wake  me.  At  last,  however,  I  dropped  to  sleep, 
and  slept  long  and  soundly.  Strange  dreams,  fraught 
with  terror,  filled  with  wild  and  fantastic  objects,  danced 
over  and  controlled  my  mind.  I  was  placed  in  positions 
of  the  most  awful  dread ;  I  was  on  engines  of  inconceiva- 
ble power,  powerless  to  control  them,  and  they  ran  with 


88  A  DREAM   IN  THE   "CABOOSE." 

the  velocity  of  light  into  long  trains  laden  with  smiling 
women  and  romping  children,  whose  shrieks  mingled  with 
the  curses  of  their  husbands  and  fathers,  who  said  it  was 
my  fault,  and  cursed  me  to  lingering  tortures.  Then  the 
scene  would  change.  I  would  be  on  a  long  straight  track, 
mounted  on  an  engine  which  seemed  a  devil  broken  loose, 
and  bent  on  a  mission  of  death  which  I  could  not  stir  to 
stop;  while  away  in  the  distance  was  another  engine, 
coming  towards  me,  and  I  felt,  by  intuition,  that  it  was 
Charley,  and  then  I  would  see  his  white  and  pallid 
face,  clammy  with  the  sweat  of  terror,  and  his  long  black 
hair  swept  back  from  his  forehead,  while  agony,  despair, 
and  the  miserable,  hopeless  fear  of  instant  and  horrible 
death  shone  with  lurid,  fierce,  unnatural  fire  from  his 
dark  blue  eye,  and  I  seemed  to  know  that  every  one  I 
held  dear  was  on  his  train ;  that  my  sisters  were  there 
looking  out  of  the  window,  gaily  laughing  and  watching 
for  the  next  station,  where  my  train  was  to  meet  theirs, 
and  my  mother  sat  smilingly  by,  looking  on,  while  other 
friends  that  I  loved  were  saying  kind  words  of  me,  who, 
in  another  instant,  would  be  upon  them  with  a  fiendish, 
fiery  engine  of  death.  I  would  shut  my  eyes,  and  the 


A   DREAM   IN   THE   "  CABOOSE."  89 

scene  would  change  again.  I  would  be  skirting  the  edges 
of  deep,  dark  precipices,  and  while  I  looked,  shuddering, 
down  into  the  dark  and  sombre  depths,  my  whole  train 
ivould  go  over  the  bank  and  down,  down — still  farther 
down  it  plunged — till  I  seemed  to  have  gone  far  enough 
for  the  nether  depths.  A  sudden  tremendous  jar  woke 
me,  and  I  sprang  to  my  feet  from  the  floor  to  which  I  had 
been  hurled,  and  found  myself  in  utter  darkness.  For 
an  instant  I  did  not  know  where  I  was,  but  I  soon  re- 
called myself  and  started  out  of  the  "Caboose,"  fully 
convinced  that  some  awful  calamity  had  happened  to  the 
train,  and  bound  to  know,  in  the  shortest  possible  time, 
whether  Charley  or  any  of  the  rest  of  the  hands  were 
hurt.  I  soon  saw  a  light,  and  hallooed  to  know  what  was 
the  matter.  "  Nothing,"  answered  Charley's  well-known 
voice.  "  Well,"  says  I,  "  you  make  a  deuce  of  a  fuss  do- 
ing nothing."  I  told  him  how  I  was  awakened,  and  we 
started  back  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  We  found  that, 
in  throwing  the  "  Caboose"  in  upon  the  branch  track,  he 
had  given  it  too  much  headway,  and  there  being  no  brake- 
man  on  it  to  check  its  speed,  it  had  hit  the  tie  laid  across 
the  rail  with  sufficient  force  to  throw  me  from  the  seat 


90  A  DREAM  IN  THE   "CABOOSE." 

and  put  out  the  only  lamp  in  the  car.  So  we  went  home, 
laughing  heartily ;  but  I  never  prepared  myself  for  an- 
other midnight  ride  in  the  "  Caboose"  of  a  freight  train 
by  telling  horrid  stories  just  before  I  started. 


AN  UNMITIGATED  VILLAIN. 


AN  UNMITIGATED  VILLAIN. 


EVERYBODY  knows  mean  men.  Everybody  knows 
people  that  they  think  are  capable  of  any  mean  act,  who 
would,  did  opportunity  present  itself,  steal,  lie,  cheat, 
swear  falsely,  or  do  any  other  act  which  is  vicious.  But 
do  any  of  my  readers  think  that  they  know  any  one  who 
would  be  guilty  of  deliberately  placing  an  obstruction  on  a 
railroad  track,  over  which  he  knew  that  a  train,  laden  with 
human  passengers,  must  soon  pass  ?  Yet  such  men  are 
plenty.  Such  acts  are  frequently  done,  and  often  with  the 
sole  view  of  stealing  from  the  train  during  the  excitement 
which  must  necessarily  ensue  after  such  an  accident.  Some- 
times such  deeds  are  done  from  pure  revenge,  because  the 
man  who  does  it  imagines  that  the  railroad  company  has 
done  him  some  injury,  and  he  thinks  that  by  so  doing  he  will 

(93) 


94  AN  UNMITIGATED   VILLAIN. 

reap  a  rich  harvest  of  vengeance.  What  kind  of  a  soul 
can  such  a  man  have  ?  The  man  who  desires  to  steal, 
wishes  to  get  a  chance  to  do  so  when  people's  minds  are 
so  occupied  with  some  other  idea  that  their  property  is 
not  thought  of.  So  he  goes  to  the  railroad  track  and  lifts 
up  a  rail,  places  a  tie  or  a  T  rail  across  the  track,  or  does 
something  that  he  thinks  will  throw  the  train  from  the 
track ;  and  then  lies  in  wait  for  the  accident  to  happen, 
calmly  and  with  deliberate  purpose  awaiting  the  event ; 
expecting,  amid  the  carnage  which  will  probably  follow,  to 
reap  his  reward ;  calculating,  when  it  comes,  to  fill  his 
pockets  with  the  money  thus  obtained ;  and  when  it  does 
happen,  and  the  heavy  train,  in  which,  resting  in  security, 
are  hundreds  of  passengers,  goes  off  the  track,  is  wrecked, 
and  lies  there  with  every  car  shattered,  and  out  of  their 
ruins  are  creeping  the  mangled  victims,  who  rend  the  air 
with  their  horrid  shrieks  and  moans  of  agony ;  when  the 
dead  and  the  mangled  are  mixed  up  amidst  the  appalling 
wreck ;  when  little  children,  scarce  able  to  go  alone,  are 
so  torn  to  pieces  that  they  linger  only  for  a  few  moments 
on  earth ;  when  families,  that  a  few  moments  before  were 
unbroken  and  happy,  are  separated  forever  by  the  death 
of  the  father  who  lies  in  sight  of  the  remaining  ones,  a 


AN  UNMITIGATED    VILLAIN.  95 

crushed  and  bleeding  mass,  or  by  the  loss  of  the  mother, 
who,  caught  by  some  portion  of  the  wreck,  is  held,  and 
there,  in  awful  agony,  slowly  frets  her  life  away,  right  in 
sight  of  all  that  are  dear  to  her ;  or,  maybe,  a  husband, 
who  is  hurrying  home  to  his  dear  one  lying  at  the  point 
of  death,  and  anxiously  awaiting  his  coming,  that,  before 
she  dies,  she  may  bid  him  good-bye,  he  is  caught  and 
mangled  so  that  he  cannot  move  farther,  and  the  wife  dies 
alone.  Maybe  a  child,  long  time  absent,  is  hastening  home 
to  meet  the  aged  mother  or  father,  and  bid  them  good-bye 
ere  the  long  running  sands  are  run  out  entirely ;  but  here 
he  is  caught,  and  his  last  breath  of  life  goes  out  with  a 
heart-rending,  horrible  scream  of  agony,  and  only  his 
mangled  corpse  can  go  home.  All  ties  may  be  rudely 
sundered.  The  infant  at  its  mother's  breast  may  be  killed, 
and  its  mother  clasp  its  tiny,  bleeding  form  to  her  bosom, 
but  it  shall  smile  on  her  nevermore ;  its  cooing  voice  shall 
not  welcome  her  care  again  on  earth.  The  mother  too 
may  be  killed,  and  the  moaning  child  may  sob  and  sigh 
for  the  accustomed  kiss,  but  all  in  vain.  The  mother, 
mangled  and  slain,  only  holds  the  child  in  the  stiff  embrace 
of  death.  The  author  of  it  all — where  is  he  ?  he  that  did 
the  deed  ?  Is  he  rummaging  the  baggage  or  the  pockets 


96  AN   UNMITIGATED   VILLAIN. 

of  the  dead  to  find  spoil  ?  If  he  is,  surely  every  cent  he 
gets  will  blister  his  fingers  through  all  time  and  in  hell. 
The  wail  of  the  dying  and  the  last  gasp  of  the  dead  will, 
through  all  time,  surely  ring  in  his  ears  with  horrible  dis- 
tinctness, and  with  a  sound  ominous  of  eternal  torture. 
The  horrible  sight  of  the  mangled,  bleeding  bodies,  the 
set  eyes,  and  jaws  locked  from  excessive  torture,  will 
surely  fasten  on  his  eye  forever,  and  blister  his  sight.  Hor- 
rid dreams,  wherein  jibing  fiends  shall  mock  at  him  and  the 
wail  of  the  damned  ring  forever  in  his  ears,  shall  surely 
visit  his  pillow  and  haunt  him  every  night.  Each  voice 
that  he  hears  amid  the  carnage  shall  seem,  in  after-time,  to 
be  the  voice  of  an  accusing  angel  telling  him  of  his  guilt. 
So  we  would  think,  and  yet  men  do  it.  Some  in  order 
to  have  a  chance  to  steal,  others  as  revenge  for  some  petty 
injury ;  and  they  live,  and,  if  detected,  are  sent  for  ten 
or  twenty  years  to  the  penitentiary,  as  if  that  were  punish- 
ment enough !  It  may  be  that  I  feel  too  strongly  on  the 
subject,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  an  eternity  in  hell  would 
scarce  be  more  than  sufficient  punishment  for  such  a  dam- 
nable deed.  I  think  I  could  coolly  and  without  compunction 
tread  the  drop  to  launch  such  a  being  to  eternity ;  for 
surely  no  good  influence  that  earth  affords  would  be  suf- 


AN  UNMITIGATED   VILLAIN.  97 

ficient  to  reclaim  such  a  man  from  the  damnable  deprav- 
ity of  his  nature.  Surely  a  man  capable  of  such  a  deed, 
is  a  born  fiend  fit  only  for  the  abiding  place  of  the  accurs- 
ed of  God,  whose  voice  should  ever  be  heard  howling  in 
sleepless,  eternal  agony  in  the  sulphurous  chambers  of  the 
devil's  home.  I  do  feel  strongly  on  this  subject,  for  I  have 
stood  by  and  seen  many  a  horrid  death  of  this  kind ;  I 
have  held  the  hands  of  dear  friends  and  felt  their  last  con- 
vulsive pressure  amid  such  scenes,  whose  deaths  were 
caused  by  the  diabolical  malignity  of  some  devil,  who,  for 
the  nonce,  had  assumed  human  shape,  and  in  revenge  for  the 
death  of  a  cow,  or  for  the  unpaid  occupation  of  land,  or 
to  get  a  chance  to  rob,  had  placed  something  on  the  track 
and  thrown  the  cars  therefrom.  I  have  seen  things  placed 
on  the  track,  rails  torn  up,  and  other  traps,  the  ingenuity 
of  whose  arrangement  could  only  have  been  begotten  by 
the  devil ;  and  I  have  shut  my  eyes  and  thought  that  I 
had  taken  my  last  look  at  earth  and  all  its  glories ;  but  I 
have  escaped.  I  never  caught  one  of  these  wretches, 
and  I  never  want  to ;  for  if  I  should,  I  am  afraid  I  would 
become  an  instrument  for  ridding  the  earth  of  a  being 
who  had  secured  good  title  (and  could  not  lose  it)  to  an 

abode  in  the  nethermost  hell. 

7 


A  PROPOSED  RACE 


STEAM   AND    LIGHTNING 


A  PROPOSED  RACE  BETWEEN  STEAM  AND 
LIGHTNING. 


OLD  Wash.  S is  known  by  almost  every  railroad 

engineer,  at  least  by  reputation.  A  better  engineer,  one 
•who  could  make  better  time,  draw  heavier  loads,  or  keep 
his  engine  in  better  repair,  I  never  knew.  But  Wash, 
had  one  failing,  he  would  drink ;  and  if  he  was  particu- 
larly elated  with  any  good  fortune,  or  was  expecting  to 
make  a  fast  run,  he  was  sure  to  get  full  of  whiskey ;  and 
though  in  that  state  never  known  to  transgress  the  rules 
of  the  road  by  running  on  another  train's  time,  or  any 
thing  of  that  sort,  still  he  showed  the  thing  which  con- 
trolled him  by  running  at  a  terrible  rate  of  speed.  At 
one  time  they  purchased  a  couple  of  engines  for  the  E. 
road,  on  which  Wash,  was  running.  These  engines  were 
very  large,  and  were  intended  to  be  very  fast,  being  put 

(101) 


102  A  PROPOSED  RACE 

up  on  seven  feet  wheels.  From  the  circumstance  of 
their  being  planked  between  the  spokes  of  their  "  dri- 
vers," that  is,  having  a  piece  of  plank  set  in  between  the 
spokes,  the  "  boys"  used  to  call  them  the  "  plank-roaders." 
They  were  tried,  and  though  generally  considered  capa- 
ble of  making  "  fast  time"  under  favorable  circumstances, 
they  didn't  suit  that  road ;  so  they  were  condemned  to 
"  the  gravel-pit,"  until  they  could  receive  an  overhauling, 
and  be  "cut  down"  a  foot  or  two.  Wash,  had  always 
considered  that  these  engines  were  much  abused,  and  had 
never  received  fair  treatment ;  so  he  obtained  permission 
of  the  Superintendent  to  take  one  of  them  into  the  shop 
and  repair  it.  At  it  he  went,  giving  the  engine  a  thor- 
ough overhauling,  fixing  her  valves  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  running  fast,  and  making  many  alterations  in  mi- 
nor portions  of  her  machinery.  At  last  he  had  the  job 
completed,  and  took  her  out  on  the  road.  After  running 
one  or  two  trips  on  freight  trains  to  smooth  her  brasses, 
and  try  her  working,  he  was  "  chalked"  for  the  fastest 
train  on  the  road,  the  B.  Express.  All  the  "  boys"  on 
the  road  were  anxious  for  the  result,  for  it  was  expected 
that  "  Old  Wash."  and  the  "  plank-roader"  would  "  as- 


BETWEEN   STEAM  AND  LIGHTNING.  103 

tonish  the  natives,"  that  trip.  Wash,  imbibed  rather 
freely,  and  was  somewhat  under  the  influence  of  liquor 
when  the  leaving  time  of  his  train  came,  though  not 
enough  to  be  noticed  ;  but  as  minute  after  minute  passed, 
and  the  train  with  which  it  connected  did  not  make  its 
appearance,  Wash.,  who  kept  drinking  all  the  time,  grew 
tighter  and  tighter,  till  at  last,  when  it  did  come  in, 
an  hour  and  a  half  "  behind  time,"  Wash,  was  pretty 
comfortably  drunk ;  so  much  so  that  some  of  the  men  who 
had  to  go  on  the  train  with  him  looked  rather  "  skeery," 
for  they  knew  that  they  might  expect  to  be  "  towed  "  as 
fast  as  the  engine  could  run.  How  fast  that  was  no  one 
knew,  but  her  seven  feet  wheels  promised  a  near  ap- 
proach to  flying. 

At  last  they  started,  and  I  freely  confess  that  I  never 
took  as  fast  a  ride  in  my  life.  (Wash,  had  got  me  to 
fire  for  him.)  Keeping  time  was  out  of  the  question 
as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  for  I  had  my  hands  full  to 
keep  the  "fire-box"  full,  and  hold  my  hat  on.  We  had 
not  run  more  than  ten  miles,  before  the  brakemen,  order- 
ed by  the  conductor,  put  on  the  brakes,  impeding  our 
speed  somewhat,  but  not  stopping  us,  for  we  were  on  a 


104  A  PROPOSED   RACE 

heavy  down  grade,  and  Wash,  had  her  "  wide  open," 
and  working  steam  at  full  stroke.  At  last  the  con- 
ductor came  over  and  begged  Wash,  not  to  run  so  fast, 
for  the  passengers  were  half  scared  out  of  their  senses. 
Wash,  simply  pointed  to  the  directions  to  use  all  "  due 
exertion"  to  make  up  time,  and  never  shut  off  a  bit.  So 
on  we  flew  to  B.,  forty  miles  from  where  we  started,  and 
the  first  stopping  place  for  the  train.  Here  the  conductor 
came  to  Wash,  again  and  told  him  if  he  did  not  run 
slower,  the  passengers  were  going  to  leave.  Wash,  said, 
"  Let  them  leave,"  and  gave  no  promises.  Some  of  them 
did  leave,  so  also  did  one  of  the  brakemen,  and  the  bag- 
gageman, but  away  we  went  without  them  to  0.,  where  a 
message  from  head-quarters  was  awaiting  us,  telling  them 
to  take  Wash,  from  the  engine  and  put  another  man  on  in 
his  place.  I  told  him  of  the  message,  and  picking  up  his 
coat,  he  got  off  and  staggered  to  a  bench  on  the  stoop  of 
the  depot,  where  he  laid  down,  seemingly  to  sleep.  I 
started  back  to  the  engine,  but  Wash,  called  after  me,  and 
asked  me  "  how  we  got  the  orders  to  take  him  off  ? "  I 
told  him  "  by  telegraph."  "  Humph,"  said  he,  rolling 
over,  "  wish  I'd  known  that,  the  confounded  dispatch,  never 
should  have  passed  me!" 


BETWEEN   STEAM  AND   LIGHTNING.  105 

Wash,  of  course  was  not  reinstated,  but  the  "  plank- 
roader"  never  made  the  running  time  of  any  of  the  fast 
trains  with  any  other  man  on  the  "  foot-board." 


AN  ABRUPT  "CALL." 


AN  ABRUPT  "CALL." 


"Hi  WHITE,"  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  was  an 
engineer  on  the  same  road  with  me.  He  has  been  run- 
ning there  for  over  ten  years,  and,  although  Hi  is  one 
of  those  mad  wags  who  are  never  so  happy  as  when  "  run- 
ning a  rig"  on  some  of  their  cronies,  he  was  univer- 
sally acknowledged  to  be  one  of  the  most  competent  and 
careful  men  that  ever  "  pulled  a  plug  "  on  a  locomotive. 

In  Hi's  long  career  as  a  runner,  he,  of  course,  has 
met  with  innumerable  hair-breadth  'scapes;  some  of 
them  terribly  tragic  in  their  accessories ;  others  irresistibly 
comic  in  their  termination,  although  commencing  with  fair 
prospect  for  a  fearful  end.  Of  this  latter  kind  was  an 
adventure  of  his,  which  he  used  to  call  "  making  a  morn- 
ing call  under  difficulties."  Hi  used  to  run  the 

(109) 


110  AN  ABRUPT   "  CALL." 

Morning  Express,  or,  as  it  was  called,  the  "  Shanghae 
run,"  which  left  the  Southern  terminus  of  the  road  at  6 
o'clock  A.M.  It  was  a  "  fast  run,"  making  the  length 
of  the  road  (one  hundred  and  forty-one  miles)  in  three 
and  a  half  hours.  Hi  ran  the  engine  Columbia,  a 
fast  "  machine,"  with  seven  feet  driving  wheels,  and  a 
strong  inclination  to  mount  the  rail  and  leave  the  track  on 
the  slightest  provocation.  About  midway  of  the  road 
there  was  a  large  brick  house,  standing  but  a  rod  or  two 
from  the  track  and  on  the  outside  of  a  sharp  curve.  As 
Hi  was  passing  the  curve  one  day,  running  at  full 
speed,  some  slight  obstruction  caused  the  Columbia  to 
leave  the  track,  breaking  the  coupling  between  it  and  the 
train,  thus  leaving  the  cars  on  the  track.  Away  went  the 
Columbia,  making  the  gravel  fly  until  she  met  with  an 
obstruction  in  the  shape  of  this  very  brick  house,  which 
the  engine  struck  square  in  the  broad-side,  and,  with 
characteristic  contempt  of  slight  obstacles,  crashed  its  way 
through  the  wall  and  on  to  the  parlor  floor,  which,  being 
made  for  lighter  tread,  gave  way  and  precipitated  the  en- 
gine into  the  cellar  beneath,  leaving  only  the  hind  end  of 
the  tender  sticking  out  of  the  breach  in  the  wall.  Hi,  who 
had  jumped  off  at  the  first  symptom  of  this  furious  on- 


AN  ABRUPT  "CALL.'  Ill 

slaught,  looked  to  see  if  there  were  any  dead  or  wounded  on 
the  field  of  this  "  charge  of  his  heavy  brigade."  Seeing 
that  he  and  his  fireman  were  both  safe,  he  turned  his 
attention  to  the  Columbia,  which  he  found  "  slightly  in- 
jured but  safely  housed,"  lying  coolly  among  pork 
barrels,  apple  bins  and  potato  heaps,  evidently  with  no 
present  probability  of  continuing  its  course.  By  this  time 
the  people  of  the  house,  who  were  at  breakfast  in  the 
farther  part  of  the  building  when  the  furious  incursion 
upon  their  domestic  economy  took  place,  came  rushing 
out,  not  knowing  whether  to  prepare  to  meet  friend  or 
rebel  foe.  Very  naturally  the  first  question  put  to  Hi 
(who  was  renewing  vegetable  matter  for  present  rumina- 
tion, i.  e.  taking  a  new  chew  of  tobacco),  was,  "  What's 
the  matter?"  This  question  was  screamed  to  Hi, 
with  the  different  intonations  of  the  various  members  of 
the  family.  Hi  coolly  surveyed  the  frightened  group 
and  replied,  "  Matter — nothing  is  the  matter.  I  only 
thought 'I  would  call  on  you  this  morning,  and  pray," 
said  he,  with  the  most  winning  politeness,  "  don't  put 
yourself  to  any  trouble  on  my  account" 


THE  GOOD  LUCK  OF  BEING  OBSTINATE. 


THE  GOOD  LUCK  OF  BEING  OBSTINATE. 


I  THINK  people  generally  look  upon  railroad  men  as  a 
distinct  species  of  the  genus  homo.  They  seem  to  regard 
them  as  a  class  who  have  the  most  utter  disregard  for 
human  life,  as  perfectly  careless  of  trusts  imposed  upon 
them,  and  as  being  capable  of  distinctly  understanding 
rules  the  most  obscure,  and  circumstances  the  most  com- 
plicated. They  seem  to  think  a  railroad  man  is  bound  to 
make  time  any  way,  in  the  face  of  every  difficulty,  and 
to  hold  him  absolutely  criminal  if  he  meets  with  any 
accident,  or  fails  tc  see  his  way  safe  out  of  any  trouble 
into  which  their  urging  may  force  him.  My  impression 
is  that  they  are  wrong,  that  railroad  men  have  but  human 
courage,  but  human  foresight,  and  should  be  spared  the 

(115) 


116     THE  GOOD  LUCK  OF  BEING  OBSTINATE. 

most  of  the  indiscriminate  censure  heaped  upon  them 
when  an  accident  happens. 

If  one  were  to  judge  from  the  words  of  the  press  and 
the  finding  of  coroners'  juries,  he  would  infer  that  a  pure 
accident,  one  unavoidable  by  human  foresight,  was  a  thing 
unknown ;  but  if  he  will  only  think,  for  a  moment,  of  all 
the  circumstances,  consider  the  enormous  velocity  at  which 
trains  move,  the  tremendous  strain  thus  thrown  upon  every 
portion  of  the  road-bed  and  the  machinery,  I  think  the 
wonder  will  be  why  there  are  not  more  accidents.  Think, 
for  a  moment,  of  one  or  two  hundred  tons'  weight  impelled 
through  the  air  at  a  velocity  of  from  one  hundred  to  two 
hundred  and  forty  feet  per  second,  and  tell  me  if  you  do 
not  consider  that  the  chances  for  damage  are  pretty  nu- 
merous. 

I  remember  once  being  detained  at  a  way- station  with 
the  Up  Express,  waiting  for  the  Down  Express  to  pass 
me.  We  were  both,  owing  to  snow  and  ice  on  the 
rails,  sadly  behind  time,  and  I  had  concluded  just  to  wait 
where  I  was,  until  we  heard  from  the  other  train,  though 
a  liberal  construction  of  the  rules  gave  me  the  right  to 
proceed  "with  due  caution;"  but  I  was  afraid  that,  if  any 
thing  did  happen,  there  would  be  two  opinions  as  to  what 


THE  GOOD  LUCK  OF  BEING  OBSTINATE.     117 

"due  caution"  meant,  so  I  held  still.  The  passengers 
were  all  uneasy,  as  they  always  are,  and  stormed  and 
fretted  up  and  down,  now  coming  to  me  and  demanding, 
in  just  about  such  tones  as  we  would  imagine  a  newly 
caught  she-bear  to  use,  whether  we  intended  "to  keep 
them  there  all  night?"  whether  I  supposed  "the  traveling 
public  would  tamely  submit  to  such  outrages?  "  if  I  thought 
they  "  had  no  rights  in  the  premises  ?  "  etc.  These  and 
similar  questions  were  put  to  me,  some  peevishly,  some  in 
a  lordly  manner,  evidently  with  the  intention  of  bullying 
me  into  a  start.  I  generally  maintained  the  dirty  but 
independent  dignity  of  my  position  of  "  runner  of  that 
kettle ; "  but  these  latter  Sir  Oracles,  I  told  that  I  was 
too  well  used  to  dealing  with  fire,  water,  steam  and  rock 
to  be  scared  by  a  little  "wind."  After  a  while  there 
came  a  telegraphic  dispatch,  unsigned,  undated,  but  say- 
ing, "  Come  ahead ; "  this  raised  a  terrible  "  hillabaloo." 
The  passengers  crowded  into  the  cars  and  looked  for  an 
immediate  start.  The  conductor  came  to  me  and  said 
that  he  thought  we  had  better  start.  1  told  him  "  No  : " 
that  I  infinitely  preferred  to  run  on  good  solid  rails  rather 
than  telegraph  wires,  at  all  times,  and  more  especially 
when  the  wires  brought  such  lame  orders  as  these  "Very 


118     THE  GOOD  LUCK  OF  BEING  OBSTINATE. 

well,"  says  he,  "  I  don't  know  but  you  are  right,  but  I 
shall  leave  you  to  console  these  passengers — I'm  off  to 
hide,"  and  away  he  went.  Pretty  soon  out  they  came  by 
twos,  threes,  dozens  and  scores ;  and  I  declare  they  need- 
ed consolation,  for  a  madder  set  I  never  saw.  Pshaw ! 
talk  about  "  hornets"  and  "  bob- tailed  bulls  in  fly-time  ;  " 
they  ain't  a  circumstance  to  a  passenger  on  a  railroad 
train  which  is  an  hour  behind  time.  Well,  they  blustered 
and  stormed,  shook  their  fists  at  me,  and  about  twenty 
took  down  my  name  with  the  murderous  intent  of  "  re- 
porting" me  at  head-quarters,  and  "  seeing  about  this 
thing"  generally.  At  last  some  individual,  bursting  with 
wrath,  called  for  an  indignation  meeting.  The  call  was 
answered  with  alacrity.  I  attended  as  a  disinterested 
spectator,  of  course ;  a  President  and  Secretary  were  ap- 
pointed, several  speeches  were  made,  overflowing  with 
eloquence,  and  all  aimed  at  me,  but  carrying  a  few  shots 
for  every  body  on  the  train,  even  to  the  boy  that  sold  pa- 
pers. This  much  had  been  done,  and  the  committee  on 
"resolutions  which  should  be  utterly  annihilating,"  had 
just  retired,  when  a  whistle  was  heard  up  the  track,  and 
down  came  an  extra  engine,  running  as  fast  as  she  could, 
carrying  no  light,  but  bringing  news  that  the  "  down 


THE  GOOD  LUCK  OF  BEING  OBSTINATE.     119 

train"  was  off  the  track  eleven  miles  above,  and  bringing 
a  requisition  for  all  the  doctors  in  town  to  care  for  the 
wounded,  who  were  numerous.  The  "  resolution  commit- 
tee" adjourned  sine  die.  I  was  never  reported,  for  they 
all  saw  that,  had  I  done  as  they  wished  me  to,  I  would 
have  met  this  extra  engine  and  rendered  a  few  more  doc- 
tors necessary  for  my  own  train.  The  blunder  of  the 
telegraph  was  never  explained,  but  blunder  it  was,  and 
the  more  firm  was  I  never  to  obey  a  telegraphic  dispatch 
without  it  was  clear  and  distinct,  "  signed,  sealed  and 
delivered." 


HUMAN  LIVES  vs.  THE  DOLLAR 


HUMAN  LIVES  vs.  THE  DOLLAR. 


CATTLE  and  horses  on  the  track  are  a  continual  source 
of  annoyance  to  engineers,  and  have  been  the  occasion 
of  many  serious  accidents.  On  the  W.  &  S.  Railroad, 
not  many  years  since,  an  accident  occurred,  with  the  cir- 
cumstances of  which  I  was  familiar,  and  which  I  will  re- 
late. 

George  Dean  was  one  of  the  most  accomplished  and 
thorough  engineers  that  I  ever  knew.  He  was  run- 
ning the  Night  Express,  a  fast  run ;  while  I  was  running 

the  through  freight,  and  met  him  at  C station.  I 

arrived  there  one  night  "  on  time,"  hut  George  was  con- 
siderably behind  ;  so  I  had  to  wait  for  him.  Just  before 
George  arrived  at  the  station,  he  had  to  cross  a  bridge  of 


124  HUMAN  LIVES  V.   THE  DOLLAR. 

about  200  feet  span ;  it  was  a  covered  bridge,  and  the 
rails  were  some  30  feet  from  the  water  below. 

I  had  been  there  waiting  for  him  to  pass,  for  over  half 
an  hour,  when  I  heard  his  whistle  sound  at  a  "  blind 
crossing"  about  a  mile  distant ;  so  I  knew  he  was  com- 
ing ;  and  as  George  was  a  pretty  fast  runner,  I  thought  I 
would  stand  out  on  the  track  and  see  him  come,  as  the 
track  was  straight,  there,  for  nearly  a  mile. 

I  saw  the  glimmer  of  his  head-light  when  he  first  turn 
ed  the  curve  and  entered  upon  the  straight  track,  and 
pulled  out  my  watch  to  time  him  to  the  station,  through 
which  he  was  to  pass  without  stopping.  The  light  grew 
brighter  and  brighter  as  he  advanced  with  the  speed  of 
the  wind,  and  he  was  within  sixty  feet  of  the  bridge,  when 
I  saw  an  animal  of  some  kind,  I  then  knew  not  what  it  was, 
but  it  proved  to  be  a  horse,  dart  out  on  the  track,  right  in 
front  of  the  engine.  -George  saw  it,  I  know,  for  he  gave 
the  whistle  for  brakes,  and  a  series  of  short  puffs  to  scare 
the  horse  from  the  track ;  but  it  was  of  no  use ;  the  horse 
kept  right  on  and  ran  towards  the  bridge.  Arrived  there, 
instead  of  turning  to  one  side,  it  gave  a  jump  right  on  to 
the  bridge,  and  fell  down  between  the  ties,  and  there,  of 
course,  he  hung.  On  came  George's  ponderous  engine, 


HUMAN  LIVES   V.   THE  DOLLAR.  125 

and  striking  the  horse,  was  thrown  from  the  track  into 
the  floor  timbers  of  the  bridge,  which  gave  way  beneath 
the  weight  and  the  tremendous  concussion,  and  down  went 
the  engine  standing  upon  its  front,  the  tender  dropped  in 
behind  it,  and  the  baggage  car  and  one  passenger  car 
were  heaped  together  on  top  of  them  both.  I  saw  them 
drop,  heard  the  crash,  and  at  once,  with  the  other  men 
of  my  train,  started  to  relieve  any  that  might  be  caught 
in  the  wreck.  Leaping  down  the  embankment  forming 
the  approach  of  the  bridge,  I  waded  through  the  stream 
to  where  the  engine  stood,  my  fireman  following  close  be- 
hind me.  Looking  up,  we  saw  George  caught  on  the 
head  of  the  boiler.  He  was  able  to  speak  to  us,  and  told 
us  that  he  was  not  much  hurt,  but  his  legs  were  caught  so 
that  he  could  not  move,  and  from  the  heat  of  the  boiler 
he  was  literally  roasting  to  death.  We  climbed  up  to 
where  he  was  caught,  to  see  if  we  could  move  him  or  get 
him  out ;  but  alas !  he  could  not  be  helped.  His  legs  lay 
right  across  the  front  of  the  boiler,  and  on  them  were 
resting  some  timbers  of  the  broken  baggage  car,  while  the 
passenger  car  was  so  wedged  into  the  bridge  that  there 
was  no  prospect  of  lifting  it  so  as  to  get  George  out  for 
many  hours.  I  went  and  got  him  some  water,  and  with 


126  HUMAN   LIVES   V.   THE   DOLLAR. 

it  bathed  his  forehead  and  cooled  his  parching  lips;  he 
talking  to  me  all  the  time  and  sending  word  to  his  wife 
and  children.  For  a  few  minutes,  he  bore  up  under  the 
pain  most  manfully ;  but  at  last,  it  grew  too  intolerable 
for  any  human  being  to  bear,  and  George,  than  whom  a 
braver  soul  never  existed,  shrieked  and  screamed  in  his 
agony.  He  begged  and  prayed  to  die.  He  entreated 
us  to  kill  him,  and  put  an  end  to  his  sufferings — he  even 
cursed  us  for  not  doing  it,  asking  us  how  we  could  stand 
and  see  him  roast  to  death,  knowing,  too,  as  we  did  and 
he  did,  that  he  could  not  be  saved.  He  begged  for  a 
knife  to  kill  himself  with,  as  he  would  rather  die  by  his 
own  hand  at  once  than  to  linger  in  such  protracted,  awful 
agony.  Oh !  it  was  terrible,  to  stand  there  and  see  the 
convulsive  twitchings  of  his  muscles,  to  hear  him  pray 
for  death,  to  watch  him  as  his  eyes  set  with  pain,  and 
hear  his  agonized  entreaties  for  death  any  way,  no  matter 
how,  so  it  was  quick.  At  last  it  was  ended,  the  horrible 
drama  closed,  and  he  died ;  but  his  shrieks  will  never  die 
out  from  the  memory  of  those  who  heard  them.  The 
next  day,  when  we  got  him  out,  we  found  his  legs  were 
literally  jammed  to  pieces  and  then  baked  to  a  cinder. 
The  fireman  we  found  caught  between  the  trucks  of  the 


HUMAN  LIVES   V.   THE   DOLLAR.  127 

tender  and  the  driving-wheel  of  the  engine,  and  apparent- 
ly not  a  bone  left  whole  in  his  body;  he  was  utterly 
smashed  to  pieces.  You  could  not  have  told,  only  from 
his  clothing,  which  hung  in  bloody  fragments  to  his  corpse, 
that  he  had  ever  been  a  human  being.  We  got  them  out 
at  last  and  buried  them.  Sadly  and  solemnly  we  followed 
them  to  the  grave,  and  thought,  with  much  dread,  of 
when  it  would  be  our  turn.  They  lie  together,  a  plain 
stone  marking  their  resting-place,  and  no  railroad  man 
ever  visits  their  graves  without  a  tear  in  tribute  to  their 
memory. 

Thus  they  died,  and  thus  all  that  knew  them  still  mourn 
them.  But  the  noise  of  the  accident  had  scarcely  ceased 
echoing  amidst  the  adjoining  hills,  ere  the  owner  of  the 
horse  was  on  the  ground  wishing  to  know  if  any  one  was 
there  who  was  authorized  to  pay  for  his  horse ;  this,  too, 
in  the  face  of  the  fact,  afterward  proven,  that  he  himself 
had  turned  the  horse  upon  the  track,  there  to  filch  the 
feed. 


FORTY-TWO  MILES  PER  HOUR. 


FORTY-TWO  MILES  PER  HOUE. 


NEARLY  every  person  that  we  hear  speak  of  travel  by 
rail,  thinks  that  he  has,  on  numerous  occasions,  traveled 
at  the  rate  of  sixty  miles  an  hour ;  but  among  engineers 
this  is  known  to  be  an  extremely  rare  occurrence.  I  my- 
self have  run  some  pretty  fast  machines,  and  never  had 
much  fear  as  to  "  letting  them  out,"  and  I  never  attained 
that  speed  for  more  than  a  mile  or  two  on  a  down  grade, 
and  with  a  light  train,  excepting  on  one  or  two  occasions. 
Supposing,  however,  reader,  that  we  look  a  little  into  what 
an  engine  has  to  do  in  order  to  run  a  mile  in  a  minute,  or 
more  time.  Say  we  go  down  to  the  depot,  and  take  a 
ride  on  this  Morning  Express,  which  goes  to  Columbus 
in  one  hour  and  thirty-five  minutes,  making  two  stops. 
We  will  get  aboard  of  the  Deshler,  one  of  the  smartest 

(131) 


132  FORTY-TWO  MILES  PER  HOUR. 

engines  on  the  road,  originally  built  by  Moore  &  Richard- 
son, but  since  then  thoroughly  overhauled,  and  in  fact  re- 
juvenated, by  that  prince  of  waster-mechanics,  "Dick 
Bromley."  And  you  may  be  sure  she  is  in  good  trim  for 
good  work,  as  it  is  a  habit  with  Dick  to  have  his  en- 
gines all  so.  She  is  run  by  that  little  fellow  you  see  there, 
always  looking  good-natured,  but  getting  around  his  engine 
pretty  fast.  That  is  "  Johnny  Andrews,"  and  you  can 
warrant  that  if  Dick  Bromley  builds  an  engine,  and 
Johnny  runs  her,  and  you  ride  behind  her,  you  will 
have  a  pretty  fast  ride  if  the  time  demands  it.  The  train 
is  seven  minutes  behind  time  to-day,  reducing  the  time  to 
Columbus — 55  miles — to  one  hour  and  twenty-eight  min- 
utes, and  that  with  this  heavy  train  of  ten  cars,  all  fully 
loaded.  After  deducting  nine  minutes  more,  that  will 
undoubtedly  be  lost  in  making  two  stops,  this  will  demand 
a  speed  of  forty-two  miles  per  hour ;  which  I  rather  guess 
will  satisfy  you.  You  see  the  tender  is  piled  full  of  wood, 
enough  to  last  your  kitchen  fire  for  quite  a  while ;  but 
that  has  got  to  be  filled  again ;  for,  ere  we  reach  Columbus, 
we  shall  need  two  cords  and  a  half.  Look  into  the  tank ; 
you  see  it  is  full  of  water ;  but  we  shall  have  to  take 
some  more ;  for  between  here  and  Columbus,  1558  gallons 


FORTY-TWO  MILES   PER  HOUR.  133 

of  water  must  be  flashed  into  steam,  and  sent  traveling 
through  the  cylinders. 

But  we  are  off;  you  see  this  hill  is  before  us ;  and  look- 
ing behind,  you  will  see  that  another  engine  is  helping  us. 
Notwithstanding  that  help,  let  us  see  what  the  Deshler  is 
doing,  and  how  Johnny  manages  her.  She  is  carrying 
a  head  of  steam  which  exerts  on  every  square  inch  of  the 
internal  surface  of  the  boiler,  a  pressure  of  120  pounds. 
Take  a  glance  at  the  size  of  the  boiler ;  it  is  17  feet  6 
inches  long,  and  40  inches  in  diameter.  Inside  of  it  there 
is  the  fire-box,  48  inches  long,  62  inches  deep,  and  36 
across.  From  this  to  the  front  of  the  engine,  you  see  a 
lot  of  flues  running.  There  are  112  of  these,  10  feet 
6  inches  long,  and  two  inches  in  diameter ;  and  of  the 
inner  surface  of  all  this,  every  square  inch  is  subjected 
to  the  aforesaid  pressure,  which  amounts  to  a  pressure  of 
95,005  pounds  on  each  flue.  Don't  you  think,  if  there  is 
a  weak  place  anywhere  in  this  boiler,  it  will  be  mighty 
apt  to  give  out  ?  And  if  it  does,  and  this  enormous 
power  is  let  loose  at  once,  where  will  you  and  I  go  to  ? 
Don't  be  afraid,  though  ;  for  this  boiler  is  built  strongly ; 
every  plate  is  right  and  sound.  Open  that  fire-door.  Do 
you  hear  that  enormously  loud  cough  ?  That  is  the  noise 


134  FORTY-TWO  MILES  PER  HOUR. 

made  by  the  escape,  through  an  opening  of  31  square 
inches  only,  of  the  steam  which  has  been  at  work  in  the 
cylinder.  You  can  feel  how  it  shakes  the  whole  engine. 
And  see  how  it  stirs  up  the  fire.  Whew  !  isn't  that 
rather  a  hot-looking  hole  ?  The  heat  there  is  about  2800° 
Centigrade  scale.  But  we  begin  to  go  faster.  Listen ! 
try  if  you  can  count  the  sounds  made  by  the  escaping 
steam,  which  we  call  the  "  exhaust."  No,  you  cannot ; 
but  at  every  one  of  those  sounds,  two  solid  feet  of  steam 
has  been  taken  from  the  boilers,  used  in  the  cylinder, 
where  it  exerted  on  the  piston,  which  is  fourteen  inches 
in  diameter,  a  pressure  of  nine  tons,  and  then  let  out 
into  the  air,  making,  in  so  doing,  that  noise.  There  are 
four  of  those  "  exhausts "  to  every  revolution  of  the 
driving-wheels,  during  which  revolution  we  advance  only 
17f  feet.  Now  we  are  up  to  our  speed,  making  208 
revolutions,  changing  33J  gallons  of  water  into  steam 
every  minute  we  run,  and  burning  eight  solid  feet  of 
wood. 

We  are  now  running  a  mile  in  one  minute  and  twenty- 
six  seconds ;  the  driving-wheels  are  revolving  a  little  more 
than  3|  times  in  each  second ;  and  steam  is  admitted  into, 
and  escapes  from,  the  cylinders  fifteen  times  in  a  second, 


FORTY-TWO  MILES  PEE  HOUR.  135 

exerting  each  time  a  force  of  nearly  nine  tons  on  the 
pistons.  We  advance  61  feet  per  second.  Our  engine 
weighs  22  tons  ;  our  tender  about  17  tons  ;  and  each  car 
in  the  train  with  passengers,  about  17  tons  ;  so  that  our 
whole  train  weighs,  at  a  rough  calculation,  209  tons,  and 
should  we  strike  an  object  sufficiently  heavy  to  resist  us, 
we  would  exert  upon  it  a  momentum  of  12,749  tons — a 
force  hard  to  resist ! 

Look  out  at  the  driving-wheels ;  see  how  swiftly  they 
revolve.  Those  parallel  rods,  that  connect  the  drivers, 
each  weighing  nearly  150  pounds,  are  slung  around  at  the 
rate  of  210  times  a  minute.  Don't  you  think  that  enough 
is  required  of  an  engine  to  run  42  miles  per  hour,  with- 
out making  it  gain  18  miles  in  that  time  ?  Those  tender- 
wheels,  too,  have  been  turning  pretty  lively  meanwhile — 
no  less  than  600  times  per  minute.  Each  piston  has,  in 
each  minute  we  have  traveled,  moved  about  700  feet. 
So  you  see  that,  all  around,  we  have  traveled  pretty 
fast,  and  here  we  are  in  Columbus,  "  on  time ; "  and  I 
take  it  you  are  satisfied  with  42  miles  per  hour,  and  will 
never  hereafter  ask  for  60. 

Let  us  sum  up,  and  then  bid  good-bye  to  the  Deshler 
and  her  accommodating  runner,  Johnny  Andrews.  The 


136  FORTY-TWO   MILES  PER. HOUR. 

drivers  have  revolved  16,830  times.  Steam  has  entered 
and  been  ejected  from  the  cylinders  67,320  times.  Each 
piston  has  traveled  47,766  feet,  and  we  have  run  only 
55  miles,  at  the  rate  of  42  miles  per  hour. 


USED  UP  AT  LAST. 


USED  UP  AT  LAST. 


THE  old  proverb,  that  "  the  pitcher  which  goes  often 
to  the  well  returns  broken  at  last,"  receives,  in  the  lives 
of  railroad  men,  frequent  confirmation.  I  have  known 
some  men  who  have  run  engines  for  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  and  met  with  no  accident  worthy  of  note  to  them- 
selves, their  trains,  or  to  any  of  the  passengers  under 
their  charge ;  but  if  they  continue  running,  the  iron  hand 
of  fate  will  surely  reach  them. 

Old  Stephen  Hanford,  or  "  Old  Steve,"  as  he  is  called 
by  everybody  who  knows  him,  had  been  running  engines 
for  twenty- five  years,  with  an  exemption  from  the  calami- 
ties, the  smash-ups  and  break-downs,  collisions,  etc.,  that 
usually  checker  the  life  of  an  engineer,  that  was  consid- 
ered by  everybody  most  remarkable.  Night  and  day, 

(139) 


140  USED   UP   AT   LAST. 

in  rain,  snow  and  mist,  he  has  driven  his  engine  on  over 
flood  and  field,  and  landed  his  passengers'  safely  at  their 
journey's  end,  always.  No  matter  how  hard  the  storm 
blew,  with  sharp  forked  lightnings,  with  muttering  thun- 
ders, and  the  pitiless,  driving  rain,  Old  Steve's  engine, 
which  from  its  belching  smoke  and  eating  fire  seemed  the 
demon  of  the  storm,  came  in  safe,  and  the  old  man,  whose 
eye  never  faltered,  whose  vigil  never  relaxed,  got  off  from 
his  engine,  and  after  seeing  it  safely  housed,  went  to  his 
home,  not  to  dream  of  the  terrors  and  miseries  of  collis- 
ions, of  the  shrieks  and  groans  of  victims  whom  his  en- 
gine had  trodden  down  and  crushed  with  tread  as  resist- 
less as  the  rush  of  mountain  torrents.  No ;  all  these  sad- 
dening reflections  were  spared  him,  for  he  had  never  had 
charge  of  an  engine  when  any  fatal  accident  happened. 
Old  Steve  was  one  of  the  most  careful  men  on  an  en- 
gine that  I  ever  saw.  He  was  always  on  the  watch,  and 
was  active  as  a  cat.  Nothing  escaped  his  watchful  glance, 
and  in  any  emergency  his  presence  of  mind  never  forsook 
him ;  he  went  at  once  to  doing  the  right  thing,  and  did  it 
quickly. 

The  old  man's  activity  never  diminished  in  the  least, 
but  his  eyesight  grew  weak,  and  he  thought  he  would  leave 


USED  UP  AT  LAST,  141 

the  main  line,  and,  like  an  old  war-horse,  in  his  latter 
days  be  rid  of  the  hurry-skurry  of  the  road.  So  he  took 
a  switch  engine  in  the  yard  at  Rochester  and  worked  there, 
leaving  the  fast  running  in  which  he  delighted  to  his 
younger  comrades,  many  of  whom  received  their  first  in- 
sight to  the  business  from  Old  Steve.  He  had  been 
there  about  a  year  at  work,  very  well  contented  with  his 
position,  a  little  outside  of  the  great  whirling  current  of 
the  road  on  which  he  had  so  long  labored,  and  was  one 
day  standing  beside  his  engine,  almost  as  old  a  stager  as 
himself,  when  with  an  awful  crash  the  boiler  exploded. 
Old  Steve  was  not  hurt  by  the  explosion,  but  he  start- 
ed back  so  suddenly  that  he  fell  upon  the  other  track,  up 
which  another  engine  was  backing ;  the  engineer  of 
which,  startled,  no  doubt,  by  the  explosion,  did  not  see 
the  old  man,  until  too  late,  and  the  wheels  passed  over 
him,  crushing  his  leg  off,  just  above  the  knee.  They 
picked  him  up  and  carried  him  home ;  "  the  pitcher  had 
been  often  to  the  well," — it  was  broken  at  last.  Owing 
to  his  vigorous  constitution,  the  shock  did  not  kill  him; 
the  leg  was  amputated,  and  now,  should  you  ever  be  in  the 
depot  at  Rochester,  you  will  most  likely  see  Old  Steve 
there,  hobbling  around  on  one  leg  and  a  pair  of  crutches, 


142  USED  UP  AT  LAST. 

maimed,  indeed,  but  as  cheerful  as  ever.  He  said  to  me, 
"  I  am  used  up,  but  what  right  had  I  to  expect  any  thing 
else  ?  In  twenty-five  years  I  have  bidden  good-bye  to 
many  a  comrade,  who,  in  the  same  business,  met  the  stern 
fate  which  will  most  surely  catch  us  all  if  we  stick  to  the 
iron  horse." 


A  VICTIMS  LOW  WAGES 


A  VICTIM  OF  LOW  WAGES. 


DURING  an  absence  from  home  of  several  weeks,  in  the 
past  summer,  I  traveled  in  safety,  upwards  of  three 
thousand  miles,  but  it  was  not  because  the  danger  was 
not  there,  not  because  the  liabilities  for  accidents  were  not 
as  great  as  ever ;  it  was  because  human  foresight  did  not 
happen  to  err,  and  nature  happened  to  be  propitious. 
The  strength  of  her  materials  was  as  much  tried  as  ever, 
but  they  were  in  condition  to  resist  the  strain ;  so  I  and 
my  fellow  passengers  passed  safely  over  many  a  place 
which  awoke  in  me  thrilling  memories ;  for  in  one  place, 
the  gates  of  death  had  been  in  former  time  apparently 
swung  wide  to  ingulf  me,  but  I  escaped ;  at  another,  I 
remember  to  have  shut  my  eyes  and  held  my  breath,  while 
my  heart  beat  short  and  heavily,  as  the  ponderous  engine, 

.      10  (145) 


146  A   VICTIM   OP  LOW  WAGES. 

of  which  I  had  the  control,  crushed  the  bones  and  mangled 
the  flesh  of  some  poor  wight  caught  upon  the  track,  to 
save  whom  I  had  exercised  every  faculty  I  possessed,  but 
all  in  vain ;  he  was  too  near,  and  my -train  too  heavy  for 
me  to  stop  in  time  to  spare  him.  I  met  many  of  my  old 
cronies  during  my  absence,  and,  inquiring  for  others,  heard 
the  long-expected  but  saddening  news,  that  they  had  gone ; 
their  running  was  over,  the  dangers  they  had  so  often  faced 
overcame  them  at  last,  and  now  they  sleep  where  "  signal 
lights  "  and  the  shrill  whistle  denoting  danger,  which  have 
so  often  called  all  their  faculties  into  play  to  prevent  de- 
struction and  save  life,  are  no  longer  heard.  Others  I 
met,  who,  in  some  trying  time,  had  been  caught  and  crushed 
by  the  very  engines  they  had  so  often  held  submissive  to 
their  will,  and  now,  maimed  and  crippled,  they  must 
hobble  along  till  the  almost  welcome  voice  of  death  bids 
them  come  and  lay  their  bones  beside  their  comrades  in 
danger,  who  have  gone  before. 

A  little  paragraph  in  the  papers  last  winter,  announced 
that  a  gravel  train,  of  which  Hartwell  Stark  was  engineer, 
and  James  Burnham  conductor,  had  collided  with  a  freight 
train,  on  the  N.  Y.  C.  R.  R. ;  that  the  fireman  was  killed, 
and  the  engineer  so  badly  hurt  that  he  was  not  expected 


A  VICTIM  OF  LOW  WAGES.  147 

to  live.  Perhaps  a  fuller  account  of  this  catastrophe 
may  be  instructive  in  order  to  show  the  risks  run  by  rail- 
road men,  the  responsibility  resting  upon  the  most  humble 
of  them,  and  the  enormous  amount  of  suffering  a  man  is 
capable  of  enduring  and  yet  live.  This  gravel  train  "  laid 
up  "  for  the  night  at  Clyde,  and  in  the  morning  early,  as 
soon  as  the  freight  trains  bound  west  had  passed,  proceeded 
out  upon  the  road  to  its  work.  It  was  the  duty  of  the 
switchman  to  see  that  the  trains  had  all  passed,  and  report 
the  same  to  the  men  in  charge  of  the  gravel  train.  This 
morning  it  was  snowing  very  hard,  the  wind  blew  strong 
from  the  east,  and  take  it  altogether,  it  was  a  most  un- 
pleasant time,  and  one  very  likely  to  put  all  trains  behind. 
Knowing  this,  the  conductor  and  engineer  both  asked  the 
switchman  if  the  freights  had  all  passed.  He  replied 
positively  that  they  had.  So,  without  hesitation,  they 
proceeded  to  their  work.  They  had  left  their  train  of 
gravel  cars  at  a  "  gravel  pit,"  some  sixteen  .miles  distant ; 
so  with  the  engine  backing  up  and  dragging  the  "  caboose," 
in  which  were  about  thirty  men,  they  started.  They  had 
got  about  ten  miles  on  their  way,  the  wind  and  snow  still 
blowing  in  their  faces,  rendering  it  almost  impossible  for 
them  to  see  anything  ahead,  even  in  daylight — utterly 


148     .  A  VICTIM  OF  LOW  WAGES. 

so  in  the  darkness  of  that  morning,  just  before  day — when, 
out  of  the  driving  storm,  looking  a  very  demon  of  de- 
struction, came  thundering  on  at  highest  speed,  the  freight 
train,  which  the  switchman  had  so  confidently  reported  as 
having  passed  an  hour  before  they  left  Clyde.  The  engi- 
neer of  the  freight  train  jumped,  and  said  that  before  he 
struck  the  ground  he  heard  the  collision.  Hart  tried  to 
reverse  his  engine,  but  had  not  time  to  do  it ;  so  he  could 
not  jump,  but  was  caught  in  the  close  embrace  of  those 
huge  monsters.  The  freight  engine  pushed  the  "  tender  " 
of  his  engine  up  on  to  the  "  foot-board."  It  divided ; 
one  part  crushed  the  fireman  up  against  the  dome  and 
broke  in  the  "  fire-door  j"  the  wood  piled  over  on  top  of 
him,  and  the  flames  rushing  out  of  the  broken  door  soon 
set  it  on  fire,  and  there  he  lay  till  he  was  taken  out, 
eighteen  hours  afterward,  a  shapeless  cinder  of  humanity. 
The  other  part  caught  Hart's  hips  between  it  and  the 
"  run-board,"  and  rolled  him  around  for  about  six  feet, 
breaking  both  thigh-bones  ;  and  to  add  to  his  sufferings  a 
piece  of  the  "  hand-rail "  was  thrust  clear  through  the 
flesh  of  both  legs,  and  twisted  about  there  till  it  made 
gashes  six  inches  long.  The  steam  pipe  being  broken  off, 
the  hissing  steam  prevented  his  feeble  cries  from  being 


A  VICTIM   OF  LOW  WAGES.  149 

heard,  and  as  every  man  in  the  "  caboose  "  was  hurt, 
Hart  began  to  think  that  iron  rack  of  misery  must  surely 
be  his  death-bed.  At  last,  however,  some  men  saw  him, 
but  at  first  they  were  afraid  to  come  near,  being  fearful 
of  an  explosion  of  the  boiler.  Soon,  however,  some  more 
bold  than  the  rest  went  to  work,  and  procuring  a  T  rail, 
they  proceeded  to  pry  the  wreck  apart,  and  release  him 
from  his  horrible  position.  And  so,  after  being  thus  sus- 
pended and  crushed  for  over  half  an  hour,  he  was  taken 
down,  put  upon  a  hand-car,  and  taken  to  his  home  at  Clyde, 
which  place  he  reached  in  five  hours  after  the  accident. 
No  one  expected  him  to  live.  The  physicians  were  for  an 
immediate  amputation  of  both  limbs,  but  to  this  Hart 
stoutly  objected.  So  they  finally  agreed  to  wait  forty- 
eight  hours  and  see.  At  the  end  of  that  time — owing  to 
his  strong  constitution  and  temperate  habits  of  life — the 
inflammation  was  so  light  they  concluded  to  leave  poor  Hart 
with  both  his  legs,  and  there  he  has  lain  ever  since.  For 
twelve  weeks  he  was  never  moved  from  his  position  in  the 
bed,  his  clothes  were  never  changed,  and  he  never  stirred 
so  much  as  an  inch ;  and  even  to  this  day — May  20th — he  is 
unable  to  turn  in  the  bed,  though  he  can  sit  up,  and  when 
I  saw  him,  was  sitting  in  the  stoop  cutting  potatoes  for 


150  A   VICTIM   OF   LOW   WAGES. 

planting,  and  apparently  as  happy  as  a  child,  to  think  he 
could  once  more  snuff  fresh  air. 

I  should  think  that  such  accidents  (and  they  are  of 
frequent  occurrence)  would  teach  the  managers  of  railroads 
that  the  policy  of  hiring  men  who  can  be  hired  for  twenty- 
five  dollars  a  month,  and  who  have  so  little  judgment  as  to 
sleep  on  their  posts,  and  then  make  such  reports  as  this 
switchman  did,  endangering  not  only  the  property  of  the 
company,  but  also  jeopardizing  the  lives  of  brave  and  true 
men  like  Hart  Stark,  and  subjecting  them  to  these  linger- 
ing tortures,  is  suicidal  to  their  best  interests.  Would  not 
an  extra  ten  dollars  a  month  to  all  switchmen  be  a  good 
investment,  if  in  the  course  of  a  year  it  saved  the  life  of 
one  poor  fireman,  who  otherwise  would  die  as  this  poor 
fellow  did ;  or  if  it  saved  one  cool  and  true  man  from  the 
sufferings  Hart  Stark  has  for  the  past  five  months  endured  ? 


CORONERS'  JURIES  ~  RAILROAD  MEN 


CORONERS'  JURIES  vs.  RAILROAD  MEN. 

••"- 

CORONER'S  juries  are,  beyond  a  doubt,  a  very  good  institu- 
tion, and  were  established  for  a  good  purpose  ;  they  inves- 
tigate sudden  deaths,  while  the  matter  is  still  fresh,  before 
the  cause  has  become  hidden  or  obscured  by  lapse  of  time, 
and  in  most  cases  they  undoubtedly  arrive  at  a  just  con- 
clusion ;  but  in  cases  of  railroad  accidents,  I  never  yet  • 
knew  one  that  was  not  unjust,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree, 
in  its  verdict  against  employees  of  the  company  on  the 
train  at  the  immediate  time  of  the  occurrence. 

I  know  that  in  saying  this  I  fly  into  the  face  of  all  the 
newspapers  of  the  land,  for  they  have  a  stereotyped  sneer 
in  these  words,  "  Of  course  nobody  was  to  blame,"  at  every 
coroner's  jury  that  fails  to  censure  somebody,  or  to  adjudge 
some  one  guilty  of  wilful  murder.  Nevertheless  I  believe 

(153) 


154          CORONERS'  JURIES  v.  RAILROAD  MEX. 

it,  and  unhesitatingly  declare  it.  Most  generally  it  is  the 
engineer  and  conductor  who  are  censured,  sometimes  the 
brakemen  or  switchmen ;  but  rarely  or  never  is  it  the  right 
one  who  is  branded  and  placed  in  the  newspaper  pillory 
as  unfit  to  occupy  any  position  of  trust,  and  guilty  of  the 
death  of  those  killed  and  the  wounds  of  those  wounded. 
As  to  an  accident  that  could  not  be  avoided  by  human 
forethought,  that  idea  is  scouted,  and  if  a  coroner's  jury 
does  ever  so  far  forget  what  is  expected  of  it  by  these  edi- 
tors— who  are  the  self-elected  bull-dogs  of  society,  and 
must  needs  bark  or  lose  their  dignity — why  no  words  are 
sufficiently  sarcastic,  no  sentences  sufficiently  bitter,  to 
express  the  contempt  which  they  feel  for  that  benighted 
coroner's  jury.  To  be  sure  they  know  nothing,  or  next 
to  nothing,  of  the  circumstances,  and  the  jury  knows  all 
about  them.  To  be  sure,  iron  will  break  and  so  will  wood ; 
the  insidious  frost  will  creep  in  where  man  cannot  probe, 
and  render  as  brittle  as  glass  what  should  be  tough  as 
steel ;  watches  will  go  wrong,  and  no  hundred  men  can  be 
found  who  will  on  all  occasions  give  one  interpretation  to 
the  same  words.  But  what  of  that  ? 

Why,  the  bare  idea  that  any  accident  upon  any  road 
can  happen,  and  some  poor  devil  of  an  engineer,  con- 


CORONERS'  JURIES  v.  RAILROAD  MEN.          155 

ductor,  brakeman  or  switchman  not  be  ready  at  hand,  to 
be  made  into  a  pack-horse  on  whom  to  pile  all  the  accu- 
mulated bile  of  these  men  who,  many  of  them,  have  some 
private  grudge  to  satisfy — the  idea,  I  say,  is  preposterous 
to  these  men,  and  they  fulminate  their  thunders  against 
railroad  men,  until  community  gets  into  the  belief  that  vir- 
tue, honesty,  integrity  or  common  dog  sense  are  things  of 
which  a  railroad  man  must  necessarily  be  entirely  desti- 
tute ;  and  they  are  looked  upon  with  distrust,  they  are 
driven  to  become  clannish,  and  frequently,  I  must  confess, 
any  thing  but  polite  to  the  traveling  public,  whose  only 
greeting  to  them  is  gruff  fault-finding,  or  an  incessant 
string  of  foolish  questions.  But  are  they  so  much  to 
blame  for  this  ?  Would  you,  my  reader,  "  cast  your 
pearls  before  swine?"  and  can  you  particularly  blame 
men  for  not  being  over  warm  to  the  traveling  community 
which  almost  invariably  treats  them  as  machines,  desti- 
tute of  feeling,  for  whose  use  it  pays  so  much  a  mile  ? 
Railroad  men,  though,  are  not  impolite,  nor  short  to  every- 
body. Ask  a  jovial,  good-natured  man,  who  has  a  smile 
and  a»  pleasant  word  for  everybody,  and  I'll  warrant  'he 
will  tell  you  that  he  gets  treated  well  enough  on  railroads ; 
that  the  engineer  answers  his  questions  readily ;  that  the 


156          CORONERS'  JURIES  v.  RAILROAD  MEN. 

brakeman  sees  that  he  has  a  seat;  that  his  baggage  is- 
not  bursted  open  every  trip  he  takes,  and  the  conductor 
does  not  wake  him  up  out  of  his  sleep  every  five  minutes 
to  ask  for  his  ticket.  But  ask  a  pursy,  lordly  individual, 
whose  lack  of  brains  is  atoned  for  by  the  capacity  of  his 
stomach,  who  never  asks  for  any  thing,  always  orders  it, 
and  wjho  always  praises  the  last  road  he  was  on,  and  d — s 
the  one  he  is  now  on ;  or  ask  a  vinegar-looking,  hatchet- 
faced  old  maid,  who  has  eight  bandboxes,  a  parasol,  an  um- 
brella, a  loose  pair  of  gloves,  a  work-bag  and  a  poodle  dog, 
who  always  has  either  such  a  cold  that  she  knows  she 
"  shall  die  unless  that  window  in  front  is  put  down,"  or 
else  is  certain  that  she  "  shall  suffocate  unless  more  air  is 
let  into  the  car,"  and  who  is  continually  asking  whoever 
she  sees  with  a  badge  on,  whether  the  "  biler  is  going  to 
bust,"  or  if  "  that  last  station  ain't  the  one  she  bought 
her  ticket  for  ?  " — ask  either  of  these  (and  there  are  a 
great  many  travelers  who,  should  they  see  this,  would  de- 
clare that  I  meant  to  be  personal),  and  they  will  tell  you 
that  railroad  men  are  "  rascals,  sir !  scamps,  sir !  every 
one  of  them,  sir !  Why,  only  the  other  day  I  had  a  bran- 
new  trunk,  and  I  particularly  cautioned  the  baggageman 
and  conductor  to  be  careful,  and  would  you  believe  it, 


CORONERS'  JURIES  v.  RAILROAD  MEN.          157 

sir  ?  when  I  got  it,  two — yes,  sir !  two — of  the  brass 
nails  were  jammed.  Railroad  men,  from  the  dirty  engi- 
neer to  the  stuck-up  conductor,  are  bent  on  making  the 
public  as  uncomfortable  as  they  can,  sir !  "  Reader,  take 
my  advice,  and  when  you  want  any  thing,  go  to  the  prop- 
er person  and  politely  ask  for  it,  and  you  will  get  it ;  but 
don't  jump  off  and  ask  the  engineer  at  every  station  how 
far  it  is  to  the  next  station  ?  and  how  fast  he  ever  did 
run  ?  and  if  he  ever  knew  John  Smith  of  the  Pontiac, 
and  Buckwheat  of  the  Sangamon  and  Pollywog  road,  one 
or  the  other,  but  really  you  forget  which ;  but  no  matter, 
he  must  know  him,  for  he  looked  so  and  so.  Take  care ; 
while  you  are  describing  the  venerable  John  Smith,  that 
long  oil-can  may  give  an  ugly  flirt,  and  your  wife  have 
good  cause  for  grumbling  at  your  greasy  cassimere  inex- 
pressibles ;  or  a  wink  from  the  engineer  to  his  funny  fire- 
man, may  open  that  "  pet  cock,"  and  your  face  get  washed 
with  rather  nasty  feeling  water,  and  the  shock  might  not 
be  good  for  you.  Don't  bore  the  conductor  with  too 
many  questions.  If  you  ask  civil  questions,  he  will  civ- 
illy answer  you;  but  if  you  bore  him  too  much  by  asking 
how  fast  "  this  ingine  can  run  ?  "  he  may  get  cross,  or 
he  may  tell  how  astonishingly  fast  the  celebrated  and 


158         CORONERS'  JURIES  v.  RAILROAD  MEN. 

mythical  Thomas  Pepper  used  to  run  the  equally  cele- 
brated and  mythical  locomotive,  "  Blowhard."  I  started 
this  article  to  tell  a  story  illustrating  my  opinion  of  coro- 
ners' juries,  but  have  turned  it  into  a  sort  of  homily  on 
the  grievances  of  railroad  men.  No  matter ;  the  story 
will  keep,  and  the  traveling  people  deserve  a  little  talking 
to  about  the  way  they  treat  railroad  men. 


ADVENTURES 

OF 

AN  IRISH  RAILROAD  MAN. 


ADVENTURES  OF  AN  IRISH  RAILROAD  MAN. 


ON  a  railroad,  as  everywhere  else,  one  meets  with  de- 
cidedly "rich"  characters — those  whose  every  act  is 
mirth-provoking,  and  who,  as  the  Irishman  said,  "  can't 
open  their  mouths  without  putting  their  fut  in  it."  Such 
an  one  was  Billy  Brown,  who  has  been,  for  nearly  thirteen 
years,  a  brakeman  on  one  road ;  who  has  run  through  and 
escaped  many  dangers ;  who  has  seen  many  an  old  com- 
rade depart  this  life-  for — let  us  hope,  a  better  one. 
Scarce  an  accident  has  happened  on  the  road  in  whose 
employ  he  has  been  so  long,  but  Billy  has  somehow  been 
there ;  and  always  has  Billy  been  kind  to  his  dying 
friends.  Many  a  one  of  them  has  breathed  out  his  last 
sigh  in  Billy's  ear ;  and  I  have  often  heard  him  crooning 
out  some  wild  Irish  laments  (for  Billy  is  a  full-blooded 

11  (161) 


162        ADVENTURES   OF  AN   IRISH  RAILROAD   MAN. 

Patlander),  as  he  held  in  his  lap  the  head  of  some  of  his 
comrades  whose  life  was  fast  ebbing  away  from  a  man- 
gled limb.  I  well  remember  one  time,  when  one  of  Billy's 
particular  cronies,  Mike — the  other  name  has  escaped  my 
memory — was  missing  from  the  train  to  which  he  was  at- 
tached. A  telegraphic  dispatch  was  sent  to  the  last  sta- 
tion to  see  if  he  was  left  there ;  but,  no !  he  was  seen  to 
get  aboard  the  train  as  it  left  the  station.  So  the  conclu- 
sion was  clear  that  Mike  had  fallen  off  somewhere  on  the 
road.  Half  a  dozen  of  us,  Billy  with  the  rest,  jumped 
into  a  hand-car,  and  went  back  to  find  him.  We  went 
once  over  the  road  without  seeing  any  thing ;  but,  as  we 
came  back,  on  passing  the  signboard  which  said  "  80  rods 
to  the  drawbridge,"  we  saw  some  blood  on  it ;  and,  on 
looking  down  under  the  trestlework,  we  saw  poor  Mike's 
body  lying  half  in  the  water  and  half  on  the  rocks.  It 
was  but  an  instant  ere  we  were  down  there ;  but  the  first 
look  convinced  us  that  he  was  dead.  As  the  train  was 
passing  over  the  bridge,  he  had  incautiously  put  out  his 
head  to  look  ahead,  and  it  had  come  in  contact  with  the 
signboard,  and  was  literally  smashed  flat.  No  sooner  had 
the  full  conviction  that  Mike  was  dead  taken  possession  of 
Billy,  than  he  whops  down  on  his  knees,  and  commences 


ADVENTURES   OF  AN  IRISH  RAILROAD   MAN.        163 

kissing  the  fellow's  bloody  face,  at  the  same  time,  with 
many  tears,  apostrophizing  his  body  somewhat  after  this 
fashion :  "  Oh !  wirra,  wirra,  Mike  dear !  Mike  dear ! 
and  is  this  the  way  ye're  afther  dyin'  to  git  yer  bloody 
ould  hed  smashed  in  wid  a  dirty  old  guideboord  ?  " 

We  all  felt  sad,  and  sympathized  fully  with  Billy's 
grief;  but  the  ludicrousness  with  which  he  expressed  it, 
was  too  much  for  any  of  us ;  and  we  turned  away,  not  to 
hide  a  tear,  but  to  suppress  a  smile,  and  choke  down  a 
laugh. 

But  Billy  was  very  clannish ;  and,  to  use  his  own  ex- 
pression, "  the  passenger  might  go  hang,  if  there  was  any 
of  the  railroad  byes  in  the  muss."  But  as  soon  as  Billy's 
fears  as  to  any  of  his  comrades  being  injured  were  allayed, 
no  man  could  be  more  efficient  than  he  in  giving  aid  to 
anybody.  Billy  was  true  to  duty,  and  never  forgot  what 
to  do,  if  it  was  only  in  the  usual  routine  of  his  business. 
Outside  of  that,  however,  he  could  commit  as  many  Irish 
bulls  as  any  one. 

I  well  remember  one  night  I  had  the  night  freight  to 
haul.  We  were  going  along  pretty  good  jog,  when  the 
bell  rang  for  me  to  stop.  I  stopped  and  looked  back  to 
see  what  could  be  the  matter.  I  saw  no  stir ;  so  after 


164        ADVENTURES   OF  AN  IRISH  RAILROAD   MAN. 

waiting  awhile,  I  started  back  to  see  if  I  could  find  any 
one.  After  getting  back  about  twenty  cars,  I  found  that 
the  train  was  broken  in  two,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  cars 
were  away  back  out  of  sight.  I  hallooed  to  my  fireman 
to  bring  a  light,  and  started  on  foot  back  around  the 
curve,  to  see  where  they  were.  I  got  to  the  curve,  and 
saw  a  light  coming  up  the  track  towards  me ;  the  man 
.who  carried  it  was  evidently  running  as  fast  as  he  could. 
I  stopped  to  see  who  it  was ;  and  in  a  few  moments  he 
approached  near  enough  to  hail  me — when,  mistaking  me 
for  a  trackman,  and  without  slackening  his  speed  the 
least,  Billy  Brown — for  it  was  he — bellowed  out,  with  a 
voice  like  a  stentor,  only  broken  by  his  grampus-like 
blowing,  "  I  say,  I  say,  did  yees  see  iver  innything  of  a 
train  goin'  for  Albany  like  h — 1  jist  now  ?  "  I  believe  I 
never  did  laugh  quite  so  heartily  in  my  life,  as  I  did  then ; 
and  Billy,  turning  around,  addressed  me  in  the  most  ag- 
grieved manner  possible,  sr/ing:  "Pon  me  sowl  now, 
Shanghi,  its  mighty  mane  /  yees  to  be  scarin'  the  life  out 
of  me  wid  that  laff  of  ^  >urs,  an'  I  strivin'  as  hard  as  iver 
I  could  to  catch  up  wid  yees,  and  bring  yees  back,  to  take 
the  resht  of  yere  train  which  ye  were  afther  lavin  in  the 
road  a  bit  back." 


ADVENTURES   OF  AN  IRISH  RAILROAD  MAN.       165 

Another  adventure  of  Billy's,  at  which  we  liked  to 
have  killed  ourselves  with  laughter,  and  Billy  himself 
liked  to  have  died  from  fright,  occurred  in  this  wise :  I 
was  taking  the  stock  train  down  the  road  one  very  dark 
night,  and  Billy  was  one  of  the  brakemen.  Attached  to 
the  rear  of  the  train  were  five  empty  emigrant  cars, 
which  we  were  hauling  over  the  road.  I  was  behind 
time,  and  was  running  about  as  fast  as  I  could,  to  make 
up  the  lost  time ;  when  the  bell  rang  for  me  to  stop.  I 
stopped ;  and  going  back  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  I 
found  that  two  of  the  emigrant  cars  had  become  detached 
from  the  train,  and  been  switched  off  into  the  river,  just 
there  very  close  to  the  track  and  very  deep ;  and  there 
they  lay,  one  of  them  clear  out  of  sight,  and  the  other 
cocked  up  at  an  angle  of  about  45  degrees,  with  one  end 
sticking  out  of  the  water  about  six  feet.  On  looking 
around,  I  found  that  all  the  men  were  there  on  hand,  ex- 
cept Billy;  and  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  We  at 
last  concluded  that  he  must  have  been  in  the  cars  that  were 
thrown  into  the  river,  and  was  drowned.  But  in  this  we 
were  soon  shown  our  error ;  for,  from  the  car  that  was 
sticking  out  of  the  water,  came  a  confused  sound  of 
splashing,  and  praying,  and  swearing,  which  soon  convin- 


166        ADVENTURES    OF   AN   IRISH  RAILROAD   MAN. 


ced  us  that  Billy  was  at  least  not  dead.  We  hallooed  at 
him,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  hurt.  His  answer  was, 
"  Divil  a  hurt,  but  right  nigh  drowned ;  an  how'll  I  get 
out  o'  this?"  We  told  him  to  get  out  of  the  door. 
"  But  it's  locked."  "  Unlock  it  then."  "  Shure,  frow  me 
a  kay  an'  I  will."  "  Where  is  your  own  key  ?  "  "  Divil 
a  wan  o'  me  knows.  Gone  drownded  I  ixpect."  "  How 
deep  is  the  water  where  you  are,  Billy  ?  "  "  Up  till  mo 
chin,  an'  the  tide  a  risin'.  Oh !  murther,  byes,  hilp  me  out 
o'  this ;  for  I'm  kilt  intirely  wid  the  wet  and  the  cowld 

and  the  shock  til  me  syshtem "     But  we  told  him 

we  couldn't  help  him,  and  that  he  must  crawl  out  of  a 
window.  "  Howly  Moses,"  says  Billy,  "  an'  don't  ye 
know  these  is  imigrant  cars,  an'  the  windows  all  barred 
across  to  kape  thim  fules  from  sticking  out  their  heads  ? 
an'  how'll  I  get  out  ?  Byes,  byes,  wad  ye  see  me  drown, 
an'  I  so  close  to  land,  an'  in  a  car  to  bute  ?  Ah !  now 
cease  yere  bladgin,  an'  hilp  me  out  o'  this."  After  both- 
ering him  to  our  hearts'  content,  we  got  a  plank,  and 
crawled  out  to  the  car,  only  about  ten  feet  from  shore, 
and  cutting  a  hole  in  the  top,  soon  had  Billy  at  liberty. 


A  BAD  BRIDGE. 


A  BAD  BRIDGE. 


ONE  cold  winter's  night,  while  I  was  running  on  the 

H Road,  I  was  to  take  the  Night  Express  down  the 

road.  The  day  had  been  excessively  stormy ;  the  snow 
had  fallen  from  early  dawn  till  dark,  and  blown  and  drifted 
so  on  the  track,  that  all  trains  were  behind  time.  Espec 
ially  was  this  so  on  the  upper  end  of  the  road ;  the  lower 
end,  over  which  I  was  to  run,  was  not  so  badly  blockaded  ; 
in  fact,  on  the  southern  portion,  the  storm  had  been  of 
rain.  The  train  came  in  three  hours  behind,  consisting  of 
twenty  cars,  all  heavily  loaded  with  grumbling,  discontented 
passengers.  This  was  more  of  a  train  than  I  could  handle 
with  my  engine,  even  on  the  best  of  rail ;  but  where  the 
rail  was  so  slippery  with  snow  or  ice  as  it  was  that  night, 

it  was  utterly  impossible  for  me  to  do  any  thing  with  it. 
(169) 


170  A   BAD   BRIDGE. 

So,  orders  were  given  for  another  engine  to  couple  in  with 
me ;  and  George  P ,  with  the  Oneida,  did  so. 

I  was  on  the  lead.  George  coupled  in  behind  me.  We 
both  had  fast  "  machines  ; "  and  in  a  little  quiet  talk  we 
had  before  starting,  we  resolved  to  do  some  pretty  fast 
running  where  we  could. 

The  hungry  passengers  at  last  finished  their  meal,  it 
being  a  refreshment  station;  the  bell  was  rang;  "all 
aboard  "  shouted ;  and  we  pulled  out.  Like  twin  brothers 
those  engines  seemed  to  work.  Their  "  exhausts  "  were  as 
one,  and  each  with  giant  strength  tugged  at  the  train. 
We  plowed  through  the  snow,  and  it  flew  by  us  in  fleecy, 
feathery  flakes,  on  which  our  lights  shone  so  bright  that 
it  seemed  as  if  we  were  plunging  into  a  cloud  of  silver 
dust.  On !  on !  we  rushed ;  the  few  stops  we  had  to  make 
were  made  quickly ;  and  past  the  stations  at  which  we 
were  not  to  stop,  we  rushed  thunderingly :  a  jar,  a  rumble, 
a  shriek  of  the  whistle,  and  the  glimmering  station-lights 
were  away  back  out  of  sight. 

At  last  we  were  within  fourteen  miles  of  the  terminus 
of  our  journey.  Both  engines  were  doing  their  utmost, 
and  the  long  train  behind  us  was  trailing  swiftly  on.  Soon 
the  tedious  night-ride  would  be  over ;  soon  the  weary 


A   BAD   BKIDGE.  171 

limbs  might  rest.  We  were  crossing  a  pile  bridge  in  the 
middle  of  which  was  a  draw.  The  rising  of  the  water  in 
the  river  had  lifted  the  ice,  which  was  frozen  to  the  piles, 
and  thus,  I  suppose,  weakened  the  bridge,  so  that,  when 
our  two  heavy  engines  struck  it,  it  gave  away.  I  was 
standing  at  my  post,  when,  by  the  sudden  strain  and  drop- 
ping of  the  engine,  I  knew  that  we  were  off  the  track, 
but  had  no  idea  of  the  real  nature  of  the  calamity.  My 
engine  struck  her  forward  end  upon  the  abutments  of  the 
bridge,  knocking  the  forward  trucks  from  under  her.  She 
held  there  but  an  instant  of  time ;  but  in  that  instant  I 
and  my  fireman  sprang  upon  the  runboard,  and  from  thence 
to  the  solid  earth.  "We  turned  in  time  to  see  the  two  en- 
gines go  down  into  the  water,  there  thirty  feet  deep ;  and 
upon  them  were  piled  the  baggage,  mail  and  express  cars, 
while  the  passenger  cars  were  some  thrown  from  the  track 
on  one  side,  some  on  the  other.  The  terrible  noise  made 
by  the  collision  and  the  hissing  made  by  the  cold  waters 
wrapping  the  two  engines  in  their  chill  embrace,  deafened 
and  appalled  us  for  an  instant ;  but  the  next,  we  were 
running  back  to  help  the  wounded.  We  found  many 
wounded  and  seven  dead  amidst  the  wreck  of  the  cars ; 
but  seven  more  were  missing,  and  among  them  were  six 


172  A   BAD   BRIDGE. 

of  the  railroad  men.  After  searching  high  and  low, 
amidst  the  portion  of  the  wreck  on  dry  land,  we  with  one 
accord  looked  shudderingly  down  into  those  black,  chilling 
waters,  and  knew  that  there  they  lay  dead.  All  night 
long  we  sat  there.  The  wild  wintry  blasts  howled  around 
us ;  the  cold  waters  gurgled  and  splashed  amid  the  wreck ; 
we  could  hear  the  wounded  groan  in  their  pains  ;  but  we 
listened  in  vain  for  the  voices  we  were  wont  to  hear.  The 
chill  tide,  over  which  the  ice  was  even  then  congealing 
anew,  covered  them.  Mayhap  they  were  mangled  in  the 
collision,  and  their  shriek  of  pain  was  hushed  and  drowned 
as  the  icy  waters  rippled  in  over  their  lips.  We  almost 
fancied,  when  we  threw  the  light  of  our  lanterns  upon  the 
black  flood,  that  we  could  see  their  white  faces  turned  up 
toward  us,  frozen  into  a  stony,  immovable  look  of  direst 
fear  and  agonizing  entreaty. 

Morning  came,  and  still  we  could  not  reach  our  friends 
and  comrades.  Days  went  by  before  they  were  found, 
but  when  found  each  man  was  at  his  post.  None  had 
jumped  or  flinched,  all  went  down  with  the  wreck,  and 
were  found  jammed  in ;  but  their  countenances  wore  no  look 
of  fear,  the  icy  waters  that  congealed  their  expression, 
did  not  find  a  coward's  look  among  them ;  all  wore  a  stern, 


A   BAD   BRIDGE.  173 

unflinching  expression  that  would  have  shown  you,  had 
you  seen  them  just  ere  they  went  down,  that  they  would 
do  as  they  did  do,  stick  bravely  to  their  posts,  and  go 
down  with  the  wreck,  doing  their  duty  at  the  cost  of  their 
lives. 


A  WARNING. 


A  WARNING. 


I  AM  not,  nor  was  I  ever,  superstitious.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve in  dreams,  signs,  witches,  hobgoblins,  nor  in  any  of 
the  rest  of  that  ilk  with  which  antiquated  maidens  were 
in  olden  time  used  to  cheer  the  drooping  spirits  of  child- 
hood, and  send  us  urchins  off  to  our  bed,  half  scared  to 
death,  expecting  to  see  some  horrid  monster  step  out 
from  every  corner  of  the  room,  and  in  unearthly  accents 
declare  his  intention  to  "  grind  our  bones  for  coffee,"  or 
do  something  else  equally  horrid,  the  contemplation  of 
•which  was  in  an  equal  degree  unfitted  to  render  our  sleep 
sound  or  our  rest  placid.  Somehow  the  visitors  from  the 
other  world,  that  children  used  to  be  told  of,  were  never 
pretty  nor  angelic,  but  always  more  devilish  than  any  thing 
else.  But  in  these  days,  this  has  changed ;  for  the  ghosts 

12.  (177) 


178  A  WARNING. 

in  which  gullible  people  deal  now,  are  preeminently  silly 
things.  They  use  their  superhuman  strength  in  tumbling 
parlor  furniture  about  the  rooms,  and  in  drumming  on  the 
floors  und  ceilings  of  bed-rooms.  The  old  proverb  is,  that 
"  every  generation  grows  weaker  and  wiser."  In  this  re- 
spect, however,  we  have  reversed  the  proverb  ;  for  a 
great  many  have  grown  stronger  in  gullibility  and  weaker 
in  intellect,  else  we  would  not  have  so  many  spiritualists 
who  wait  for  God  and  His  angels  to  thump  out  their  spe- 
cial revelations,  or  else  tumble  a  table  about  the  room  to 
the  tune  of  A  B  C. 

I  have  known,  as  have  many,  probably  all  of  my  read- 
ers, a  great  many  people  who  professed  to  have  the  firmest 
faith  in  dreams  and  signs,  who  were  always  preadmonished 
of  every  event  by  some  supernatural  means,  and  who  in- 
variably are  looking  out  for  singular  events  when  they 
have  been  visited  by  a  singular  dream.  I  have  never 
believed  in  these  things,  have  always  laughed  at  them,  ; 
and  do  so  still.  Yet  there  is  one  circumstance  of  my 
life,  of  this  kind,  that  is  shrouded  in  mystery,  that  I  can-  ' 
not  explain,  that  I  know  to  be  so,  and  yet  can  scarcely 
believe,  when  a  warning  was  given  to  me  somehow,  I  know 
not  how,  that  shook  me  and  influenced  me,  despite  my  ridi- 


A  WARNING.  179 

cule  of  superstition  and  disbelief  in  signs  or  warnings  of 
any  kind ;  so  that  I  heeded  it,  and,  by  so  doing,  saved 
myself  from  instant  death,  and  saved  also  many  passen- 
gers who,  had  they  known  of  the  "  warning"  which  in- 
fluenced me  to  take  the  steps  which  I  did,  would  have 
laughed  at  me,  and  endeavored  to  drive  me  on.  The 
facts  are  briefly  as  follows — I  tell  them,  not  attempting  to 
explain  them,  nor  offering  any  theory  concerning  them — 
neither  pretending  that  angels  or  devils  warned  me,  and 
only  knowing  that  it  was  so : 

I  was  running  a  Night  Express  train,  and  had  a  train 
of  ten  cars — eight  passenger  and  two  baggage  cars — and 
all  were  well  loaded.  I  was  behind  time,  and  was  very 
anxious  to  make  a  certain  point;  therefore  I  was  using 
every  exertion,  and  putting  the  engine  to  the  utmost 
speed  of  which  she  was  capable.  I  was  on  a  section  of 
the  road  usually  considered  the  best  running  ground  on 
the  line,  and  was  endeavoring  to  make  the  most  of  it, 
when  a  conviction  struck  me  that  I  must  stop.  A  some- 
thing seemed  to  tell  me  that  to  go  ahead  was  dangerous, 
and  that  I  must  stop  if  I  would  save  life.  I  looked  back 
at  my  train,  and  it  was  all  right.  I  strained  my  eyes 
and  peered  into  the  darkness,  and  could  see  no  signal  of 


180  A  WARNING. 

danger,  nor  any  thing  betokening  danger,  and  there  I 
could  see  five  miles  in  the  daytime.  I  listened  to  the 
working  of  my  engine,  tried  the  water,  looked  at  the 
scales,  and  all  was  right.  I  tried  to  laugh  myself  out  of 
what  I  then  considered  a  childish  fear ;  but,  like  Banquo's 
ghost,  it  would  not  down  at  my  bidding,  but  grew  stronger 
in  its  hold  upon  me.  I  thought  of  the  ridicule  I  would 
have  heaped  upon  me,  if  I  did  stop ;  but  it  was  all  of  no 
avail.  The  conviction — for  by  this  time  it  had  ripened 
into  a  conviction — that  I  must  stop,  grew  stronger,  and  I 
resolved  to  stop ;  and  I  shut  off,  and  blew  the  whistle  for 
brakes,  accordingly.  I  came  to  a  dead  halt,  got  off,  and 
went  ahead  a  little  way,  without  saying  any  thing  to  any- 
body what  was  the  matter.  I  had  my  lamp  in  my  hand, 
and  had  gone  about  sixty  feet,  when  I  saw  what  convinc- 
ed me  that  premonitions  are  sometimes  possible.  I  drop- 
ped the  lantern  from  my  nerveless  grasp,  and  sat  down  on 
the  track,  utterly  unable  to  stand ;  for  there  was  a  switch, 
the  thought  of  which  had  never  entered  my  mind,  as  it 
had  never  been  used  since  I  had  been  on  the  road,  and 
was  known  to  be  spiked,  but  which  now  was  open  to  lead 
me  off  the  track.  This  switch  led  into  a  stone  quarry, 
from  whence  stone  for  bridge  purposes  had  been  quarried, 


A  WARNING.  181 

and  the  switch  was  left  there,  in  case  stone  should  be 
needed  at  any  time ;  but  it  was  always  kept  locked,  and 
the  switch-rail  spiked.  Yet  here  it  was,  wide  open ;  and, 
had  I  not  obeyed  my  preadraonition — warning — call  it 
what  you  will — I  should  have  run  into  it,  and,  at  the 
end  of  the  track,  only  about  ten  rods  long,  my  heavy  en- 
gine and  train,  moving  at  the  rate  of  forty-five  miles  per 
hour,  would  have  come  into  collision  with  a  solid  wall  of 
rock,  eighteen  feet  high.  The  consequences,  had  I  done 
so,  can  neither  be  imagined  nor  described ;  but  they  could, 
by  no  possibility,  have  been  otherwise  than  fatally  horrid. 
This  is  my  experience  in  getting  warnings  from  a  source 
that  I  know  not  and  cannot  divine.  It  is  a  mystery  to 
me — a  mystery  for  which  I  am  very  thankful,  however, 
although  I  dare  not  attempt  to  explain  it,  nor  say  whence 
it  came. 


SINGULAR  ACCIDENTS. 


SINGULAR  ACCIDENTS. 


THE  brothers  G.  are  well  known  to  all  travelers  by 
the  route  of  the  N.  Y.  C.  R.  R.  They  have  been  a  long 
time  employed  there,  and  by  the  traveling  public  and  the 
company  that  employ  them  they  are  universally  esteemed ; 
but  the  star  of  them  all,  the  one  most  loved  by  his  com- 
panions in  toil,  respected  by  travelers,  and  trusted  by  his 
employers,  was  Thomas,  who  met  with  his  death  in  one 
of  those  calamitous  accidents  which  so  frequently  mar 
the  career  of  the  railroad  man.  I  was  an  eye-witness  of 
the  accident,  and  shall  attempt  to  describe  it. 

The  day  on  which  it  occurred  was  a  glorious  summer 
one ;  the  breeze  wafted  a  thousand  pleasant  odors  to  my 
senses;  the  birds  sang  their  sweetest  songs.  As  I  was 
journeying  along  the  highway  between  Weedsport  and 

(185) 


186  SINGULAR  ACCIDENTS. 

Jordan,  I  heard  the  rumble  of  the  approaching  train,  and 
as  from  where  I  was  I  could  get  a  fair  view  of  the  passing 
train,  which  was  the  fastest  on  the  road  and  was  behind  time 
a  few  minutes,  I  stopped  to  watch  it  as  it  passed.  On  it 
came,  the  sun  glancing  on  the  polished  engine  as  it  sped 
along  like  the  wind.  The  track  where  I  had  stopped,  was 
crossed  by  two  roads,  one  of  them  crossing  at  right  angles, 
the  other  diagonally ;  between  the  two  crossings  there  was 
a  large  pile  of  ties  placed,  probably  eight  feet  from  the 
track.  I  saw  the  engine,  which  was  running  at  full  speed, 
pass  the  pile,  when  suddenly,  without  warning,  in  a  second 
of  time,  the  cars  went  piling  and  crashing  over  the  bank 
into  a  promiscuous  heap,  crushed  into  each  other  like  egg- 
shells. One  of  them,  a  full-sized  car,  turned  a  complete 
somersault ;  another  was  turned  once  and  a  half  around, 
and  lay  with  one  end  down  in  the  ditch,  and  the  other  up 
to  the  track,  while  the  third  went  crashing  into  its  side. 
I  hitched  my  horse  and  ran  over  to  the  scene,  expecting, 
of  course,  that  not  a  soul  would  be  found  alive ;  arrived 
there,  I  found  that  no  person  was  killed  but  poor  Tom,  and 
not  over  a  dozen  hurt,  although  the  cars  were  crowded, 
and  not  a  seat  was  left  whole  in  the  cars,  which  were 
perfectly  riddled.  They  had  already  found  Tom's  body, 


SINGULAR  ACCIDENTS.  187 

which  lay  under  the  truck  of  the  first  passenger  car,  which 
had  been  torn  out,  and  one  wheel  lay  on  his  neck.  He 
had  no  need  of  care,  no  need  of  sympathy,  for  the  first 
crash  killed  him ;  and  so  with  no  notice,  no  warning,  no 
moment  for  a  faintly  whispered  good-bye  to  those  he  loved, 
poor  Tom  passed  away  to  the  unknown  shore,  leaving  many 
friends  to  grieve  for  him. 

We  got  him  out,  laid  him  beside  the  track,  and  stood 
solemnly  by  ;  grieving  that  he,  our  friend,  had  gone  and 
left  no  message  for  the  wife  who  idolized  him,  the  brothers 
who  had  loved  him,  or  the  friends  who  so  fully  appreciated 
his  many  noble  qualities.  While  we  stood  thus  speechless 
with  heartfelt,  choking  grief,  a  man  came  up  and  asked 
for  the  man  who  had  charge  of  the  train.  Some  one.  I  for- 
get who,  pointed  to  the  mangled  form  of  poor  Tom  and 
said,  "  There  is  all  that  is  mortal  of  him."  Said  the  thing 
— I  will  not  call  him  man — "  Dear  me  !  I'm  sorry ;  I 
wanted  to  find  some  one  to  pay  for  my  cow." 

It  was  his  cow  that  had  caused  the  accident,  by  jumping 
out  against  the  baggage  car  after  the  engine  had  passed. 

Another  singular  accident  occurred  on  a  road  in  the 
State  of  New  York.  An  engine,  to  which  something  had 
happened  that  required  a  couple  of  sticks  of  wood  out  on 


188  SINGULAR  ACCIDENTS. 

the  run-board  as  fulcrum  for  a  lever,  was  passing  through 
a  station  at  full  speed,  when  one  of  the  sticks,  that  had 
carelessly  heen  left  outside,  fell  off  and  was  struck  by  the 
end  of  the  main  rod  on  the  backward  stroke ;  impelled 
backwards  by  the  force  of  the  blow,  it  struck  a  man,  stand- 
ing carelessly  beside  the  track,  full  on  the  side  of  the  head, 
fracturing  his  skull,  and  killing  him  instantly. 


LUDICROUS  INCIDENTS. 


LUDICROUS  INCIDENTS. 


THERE  is  not  often  much  that  is  comic  on  the  "  rail," 
but  occasionally  an  incident  occurs  that  brings  a  loud 
guffaw  from  everybody  who  witnesses  it. 

I  remember  once  standing  by  the  side  of  an  engine  that 
was  switching  in  the  yard.  The  fellow  who  was  run- 
ning it  I  thought,  from  his  actions  while  oiling,  was  drunk, 
so  I  watched  him.  He  finished  oiling,  and  clambered  up 
on  to  the  foot-board  and  attempted,  in  obedience  to  the 
orders  of  the  yard-man,  to  start  out.  He  jerked  and 
jerked  at  the  throttle-lever,  but  all  to  no  effect ;  the  en- 
gine would  not  budge  an  inch.  I  saw  from  where  I  stood 
what  was  the  matter,  and  although  nearly  bursting  with 
laughter,  I  refrained  from  telling  him,  but  looked  on  to 
see  the  fun.  After  pulling  for  at  least  a  dozen  times,  he 

(191) 


192  LUDICROUS  INCIDENTS. 

bawled  out  to  the  yard-man  that  he  couldn't  go,  and  then 
gave  another  twitch,  but  it  was  of  no  use ;  then  he  stepped 
back  a  step  or  two  and  looked  at  the  throttle,  with  a  look 
of  the  most  stupid  amazement  that  I  ever  saw ;  his  face 
expressed  the  meaning  of  the  word  "  dumbfoundered " 
completely.  At  last  the  fireman  showed  him  what  was  the 
matter.  It  was  simply  that  he  had  set  the  thumb-screw 
on  the  throttle-lever  and  neglected  to  unloose  it,  in  each 
of  his  efforts. 

Another  laughable  affair  occurred  on  one  of  the  Eastern 
roads,  I  forget  which.  An  engine  stood  on  the  switch, 
all  fired  up  and  ready  to  start ;  the  hands  were  all  absent 
at  dinner.  A  big  black  negro,  who  was  loafing  around  the 
yard,  became  exceedingly  inquisitive  as  to  how  the  thing 
was  managed — so  up  he  gets  and  began  to  poke  around. 
He  threw  the  engine  into  the  forward  gear  and  gave  it 
steam,  of  course  not  knowing  what  he  was  doing  ;  but  of 
that  fact  the  engine  was  ignorant,  and  at  once,  like  a  mettled 
steed,  it  sprung  to  full  speed  and  away  it  went,  carrying 
the  poor  darkey  an  unwilling  dead-head  ride.  He  did 
not  know  how  to  stop  it,  and  dare  not  jump,  for,  as  he  him- 
self expressed  it,  when  found,  "  Gorramity,  she  mos  flew." 
The  engine  of  course  ran  until  steam  ran  down,  which 


LUDICROUS  INCIDENTS.  193 

was  not  in  fourteen  miles,  and  Mr.  Darkey  got  off  and  put 
for  the  woods.  He  didn't  appear  at  that  station  again 
for  over  a  week.  He  said  that  "  ef  de  durn  ting  had  a 
gon  much  furder  he  guessed  he'd  a  bin  white  folks." 

"  01  Long,"  an  old  friend  of  mine,  tells  a  pretty  good 
story  about  an  old  white  horse  that  he  struck  once.  01 
says  that  he  was  running  at  about  thirty  miles  an  hour, 
when  an  old  white  horse  jumped  out  on  the  track  right  in 
front  of  the  engine,  which  struck  him  and  knocked  him 
away  down  into  the  ditch,  where  he  lay  heels  up.  He  of 
course  expected  that  the  horse  was  killed,  and  so  reported 
on  arriving  at  the  end  of  the  road  ;  but  what  was  his  sur- 
prise, on  returning  the  next  day,  to  see  the  self-same  old 
nag  quietly  eating  by  the  side  of  the  road.  01  says  he 
believes  the  old  fellow  did  look  rather  sour  at  him,  but  he 
could  not  apologize. 


13 


EXPLOSIONS. 


EXPLOSIONS 


IT  is  easy  to  account  for  explosions  of  boilers  on  the 
hypothesis  of  too  great  pressure  ;  but  it  is  hardly  ever 
very  easy — frequently  utterly  impossible — to  account  for 
the  causes  which  induce  that  overpressure.  There  are,  to 
be  sure,  a  number  of  reasons  which  may  be  advanced. 
The  engineer  may  have  screwed  the  scales  down  too  much, 
and  thus,  the  safety-valve  not  operating  to  let  off  the  sur- 
plus steam,  a  force  may  be  generated  within  the  boiler  of 
such  tremendous  power  that  the  strong  iron  will  be  rent 
and  torn  like  tissue-paper.  This  I  say  may  occur,  but  in 
my  experience  I  never  knew  of  such  a  case.  Then  again, 
the  water  may  get  so  low  in  the  boiler  that,  on  starting 
the  engine  and  injecting  cold  water  upon  the  hot  plates, 
steam  will  be  generated  so  suddenly  as  not  to  find  vent, 

(197) 


198  EXPLOSIONS. 

and  in  such  enormous  quantities  and  of  so  high  a  tem- 
perature as  to  explode  the  strongest  boiler.  Again,  the 
water  may  be  allowed  to  get  low  in  the  boiler,  and  the 
plates  getting  extremely  hot,  the  motion  of  the  train  would 
generate  steam  enough  by  splashing  water  against  them 
to  cause  an  explosion.  A  proper  care  and  due  attention 
to  the  gauges  would  obviate  this,  and  render  explosion  from 
these  causes  impossible.  A  piece  of  weak  or  defective 
iron,  too,  may  have  been  put  into  the  boiler  at  the  time  of 
its  manufacture,  and  go  on  apparently  safe  for  a  long  time, 
until  at  last  it  gives  way  under  precisely  the  same  pressure 
of  steam  that  it  has  all  along  held  with  safety,  or  it  may 
be  with  even  less  than  it  has  often  carried.  How  the 
engineer  is  to  obviate  this  most  fruitful  cause  of  explosions, 
for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  see ;  still  if  his  engine  does 
blow  up,  everybody  and  their  wives  will  believe  that  it 
happened  entirely  through  his  neglect.  A  person  who 
has  never  seen  an  explosion,  can  form  no  idea  of  the  enor- 
mous power  with  which  the  iron  is  rent.  I  saw  one  engine 
that  had  exploded,  at  a  time  too  when,  according  to  the 
oaths  of  three  men,  it  had  a  sufficiency  of  water  and  only 
95  Ibs.  of  steam  to  the  square  inch,  and  was  moving  at 
only  an  ordinary  speed,  yet  it  was  blown  65  feet  from  the 


EXPLOSIONS.  199 

track,  and  the  whole  of  one  side,  from  the  "  check  joint " 
back  to  the  "  cab,"  was  torn  wide  open — the  lower  portion 
hanging  down  to  the  ground,  folded  over  like  a  table-leaf, 
and  the  other  portion  lay  clear  over  to  the  other  side, 
while  from  the  rent,  the  jagged  ends  of  more  than  half 
of  the  flues  projected,  twisted  into  innumerable  shapes. 
The  frame  on  that  side  was  broken,  and  the  ends  stuck 
out  from  the  side  at  right  angles  with  their  former  position. 
I  saw  another,  where  the  whole  boiler  front  was  blown  out 
and  the  engine  tipped  clear  over  backwards  on  to  the  ten- 
der and  freight  car,  where  the  engineer  and  fireman  were 
found,  crushed  into  shapeless  masses,  lying  in  the  midst 
of  the  wreck.  The  engine  Manchester  exploded  while 
standing  at  a  station  on  the  H.  R.  R.  R.,  and  killed  two 
out  of  five  men,  who  were  standing  together  beside  the 
tender.  Two  of  those  who  were  left,  deposed,  on  oath,  that 
not  three  minutes  before  the  accident  occurred,  the  en- 
gineer tried  the  water  and  found  fully  three  gauges,  while 
there  was  a  pressure  of  only  ninety-five  pounds  to  the 
square  inch,  and  it  was  blowing  off. 

How  to  account  for  it  no  one  could  tell,  so  every  one 
who  knew  any  thing  whatever  in  regard  to  such  things, 
called  it  "  another  of  the  mysterious  visitations  of  God." 


200  EXPLOSIONS. 

But  the  newspapers  called  it  an  evidence  of  gross  care- 
lessness on  the  part  of  the  engineer. 

Several  explosions  have  been  known  where  the  upper 
tubes  were  found  unhurt,  while  the  lower  ones  were,  some 
of  them,  found  badly  burnt.  The  conclusion  in  these 
cases  was  that  the  tubes  were  too  close  together,  and  the 
water  was  driven  away  from  them ;  consequently  the  start- 
ing of  the  engine,  or  the  pumping  of  cold  water  into  the 
boiler,  was  sufficient  to  cause  an  explosion. 


HOW  A  FRIEND  WAS  KILLED. 


HOW  A  FRIEND  WAS  KILLED. 


THERE  is  among  the  remembrances  of  my  life  as  a  rail- 
road man,  one  of  such  sadness,  that  I  never  think  of  it 
without  a  sigh.  Every  man,  unless  he  be  so  morose  that 
he  cannot  keep  a  dog,  has  his  particular  friends ;  those  in 
•whom  he  confides,  and  to  whom  he  is  always  cheerful ; 
whose  society  he  delights  in,  and  the  possibility  of  whose 
death,  he  will  never  allow  himself  to  admit. 

Such  a  friend  had  I  in  George  H .  We  were 

inseparable — both  of  us  unmarried  ;  we  would  always 
manage  to  board  together,  and  on  all  possible  occasions  to 
be  together.  Did  George's  engine  lay  up  for  the  Sunday 
at  one  end  of  the  road,  and  mine  at  the  other,  one  of  us 
was  sure  to  go  over  the  road  "  extra,"  in  order  that  we 
might  be  together. 

(203) 


204          HOW  A  FRIEND  WAS  KILLED. 

George  and  I  differed  in  many  respects,  but  more  es- 
pecially in  this,  that  whereas  I  was  one  of  the  "  fast " 
school  of  runners,  who  are  never  so  contented  with  run- 
ning as  when  mounted  on  a  fast  engine,  with  an  express 
train,  and  it  behind  time.  George  preferred  a  slow  train, 
where,  as  he  said,  his  occupation  was  "  killing  time,"  not 
"  making"  it.  So  while  I  had  the  "  Baltic,"  a  fast  en- 
gine, with  drivers  six  feet  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and 
usually  ran  express  trains,  George  had  the  "  Essex,"  a 
freight  engine,  with  four  feet  drivers. 

One  Saturday  night  I  took  the  last  run  north,  and  was 
to  "  lay  over "  with  my  engine  for  the  Sunday  at  the 
northern  terminus  of  the  road,  until  two  o'clock  Monday 
P.  M.  George  had  to  run  the  "  Night  Freight"  down 
that  night,  and  as  we  wished  particularly  to  be  together 
the  next  day,  I  concluded  to  go  "  down  the  line"  with 
him.  Starting  time  came,  and  off  we  started.  I  rode 
for  awhile  in  the  "  caboose,"  as  the  passenger  car  attach- 
ed to  a  freight  train  is  called,  but  as  the  night  was  warm 
and  balmy,  the  moon  shining  brightly,  tinging  with  silvery 
white  the  great  fleecy  clouds  that  swept  through  the  heav- 
en, like  monstrous  floating  islands  of  snow  drifting  over 
the  fathomless  waters  of  the  sea,  I  went  out  and  rode 


HOW   A   FRIEND   WAS   KILLED.  205 

with  George  on  the  engine.  The  night  was  indeed  most 
beautiful,  the  moonlight  shimmering  across  the  river, 
which  the  wind  disturbed  and  broke  into  many  ripples, 
made  it  to  glow  and  shine  like  a  sea  of  molten  silver. 
The  trees  beside  the  track  waved  and  beckoned  their 
leafy  tops,  looking  sombre  and  weird  in  the  half-darkness 
of  the  night.  The  vessels  we  saw  upon  the  river,  gliding 
before  the  freshening  breeze,  with  their  signal  lights  glim- 
mering dimly,  and  the  occasional  steamers  with  light 
streaming  from  every  window,  and  the  red  light  of  their 
fires  casting  an  unearthly  glare  upon  the  waters;  these 
all  combined  to  make  the  scene  spread  before  us,  as  we 
rushed  shrieking  and  howling  over  the  road,  one  of  un- 
excelled beauty.  We  both  gazed  at  it,  and  said  that  if 
all  scenes  in  the  life  of  a  railroad  man  were  as  beautiful 
as  this  we  would  wish  no  other  life. 

But  something  ailed  George's  engine.  Her  pumps 
would  not  work.  After  tinkering  with  them  awhile,  he 
asked  the  fireman  if  there  was  plenty  of  water  in  the  tank ; 
the  fireman  said  there  was,  but  to  make  assurance  doubly 
sure  I  went  and  looked,  and  lo !  there  was  not  a  drop  \ 
Before  passing  through  the  station  George  had  asked  the 
fireman  if  there  was  plenty  of  water.  He  replied  that 


206  HOW  A   FRIEND   WAS   KILLED. 


there  was ;  so  George  had  run  through  the  station,  it  not 
being  a  regular  stopping  place  for  the  train,  and  here  we 
were  in  a  fix.  George  thought  he  could  run  from  where 
we  had  stopped  to  the  next  water  station ;  so  he  cut  loose 
from  the  train  and  started.  We  had  stopped  on  the  out- 
side of  a  long  curve,  to  the  other  end  of  which  we  could 
see  ;  it  was  fully  a  half  mile,  but  the  view  was  straight 
across  the  water — a  bay  of  the  river  sweeping  in  there, 
around  which  the  track  went. 

In  about  twenty  minutes  after  George  had  left  we  saw 
him  coming  around  the  farthest  point  of  the  curve ;  the 
brakeman  at  once  took  his  station  with  his  light  at  the  end 
of  the  cars,  to  show  George  precisely  where  the  train 
stood.  The  engine  came  swiftly  towards  us,  and  I  soon 
saw  he  was  getting  so  near  that  he  could  not  stop  without 
a  collision,  unless  he  reversed  his  engine  at  once ;  so  I 
snatched  the  lamp  from  out  the  brakeman's  hands,  and 
swung  it  wildly  across  the  track,  but  it  was  of  no  avail. 
On  came  the  engine,  not  slackening  her  speed  the  least. 
We  saw  somebody  jump  from  the  fireman's  side,  and  in  the 
instant  of  time  allowed  us,  we  looked  to  see  George  jump, 
but  no !  he  stuck  to  his  post,  and  there  came  a  shock  as 
of  a  mountain  falling.  The  heavy  freight  engine  running, 


HOW   A   FRIEND    WAS    KILLED.  207 

as  it  was,  at  as  high  a  rate  of  speed  as  it  could  make, 
crashed  into  the  train ;  thirteen  cars  were  piled  into  a 
mass  of  ruins,  the  like  of  which  is  seldom  seen.  The 
tender  was  turned  bottom  side  up,  with  the  engine  lying 
atop  of  it,  on  its  side.  The  escaping  steam  shrieked  and 
howled ;  the  water,  pouring  in  on  to  the  fire,  crackled  and 
hissed ;  the  stock  (sheep  and  cattle)  that  were  in  the  cars 
bellowed  and  bleated  in  their  agony,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
all  the  legions  of  hell  were  there  striving  to  make  a  pan- 
demonium of  that  quiet  place  by  the  river-side.  As  soon 
as  we  recovered  from  the  shock  and  got  used  to  the  din 
which  at  first  struck  terror  to  our  hearts — and  I  think  no 
sound  can  be  more  terrible  than  the  bellowing  of  a  lot  of 
cattle  that  are  crushed  in  a  railroad  smash-up — we  went  to 
work  to  see  if  George  was  alive,  and  to  get  him  out,  dead 
or  alive.  We  found  him  under  the  tender,  but  one  side 
of  the  tank  lay  across  his  body,  so  that  he  could  not  move. 
We  got  rails  and  lifted  and  pried,  until  we  raised  the  ten- 
der and  got  him  out.  We  took  one  of  the  doors  from  the 
wrecked  cars,  laid  it  beside  the  track,  and  made  a  bed  on 
it  with  our  coats  and  the  cushions  from  the  caboose ;  for 
poor  George  said  he  wanted  to  pass  the  few  moments  left 
him  of  earth  beneath  the  open  sky,  and  with  the  cool 


208         HOW  A  FRIEND  WAS  KILLED. 

breeze  to  fan  his  cheek.  Of  course  we  dispatched  a  man 
to  the  nearest  station  for  aid,  and  to  telegraph  from  there 
for  an  engine ;  but  it  was  late  at  night,  everybody  was 
asleep,  and  it  was  more  than  three  hours  before  any  one 
arrived,  and  all  that  time  George  lingered,  occasionally 
whispering  a  word  to  me  as  I  bent  over  him  and  moisten- 
ed his  lips. 

He  told  me  while  lying  there  the  reason  why  he  did 
not  stop  sooner.  Something  had  got  loose  on  the  inside 
throttle  gearing,  and  he  could  not  shut  off  steam,  nor, 
owing  to  some  unaccountable  complicity  of  evil,  could  he 
reverse  his  engine.  So  on  he  had  to  come,  pell-mell, 
and  both  of  them  were  killed ;  for  the  fireman  had  jump- 
ed on  some  rocks,  and  must  have  died  instantly,  as  he 
was  most  horribly  mangled. 

The  night  wind  moaned  through  the  wreck,  the  drip- 
ping water  yet  hissed  upon  the  still  hot  iron  of  the  en- 
gine, the  waves  of  the  river  gurgled  and  rippled  among 
the  rocks  of  the  shore,  and  an  occasional  bellow  of  agony 
was  heard  from  amidst  the  cattle  cars,  where  all  the  rest 
of  the  hands  were  at  work  releasing  the  poor  creatures ; 
but  I  sat  there,  in  sad  and  solemn  silence,  waiting  for  him 
to  die  that  had  been  as  a  brother  to  me.  At  last,  just  as 


HOW  A  FRIEND  WAS  KILLED.         209 

we  heard  the  whistle  of  the  approaching  engine,  and  just 
as  the  rising  sun  had  begun  to  gild  and  bespangle  the 
purpling  east,  George  opened  his  eyes,  gave  my  hand  a 
faint  grasp,  and  was  no  more.  I  stood  alone  with  the 
dead  man  I  had  loved  so  in  life,  but  from  whom  death 
had  now  separated  me. 

14 


AN  UNROMANTIC  HERO. 


AN  UNROMANTIC  HERO. 


THOSE  who  have  traveled  much  on  the  Little  Miami 
Railroad,  must  have  noticed  a  little  old  fellow,  with  grizzled 
locks  and  an  unpoetical  stoop  of  the  shoulders,  who  whisks 
about  his  engine  with  all  the  activity  of  a  cat,  and  whom 
the  railroad  men  all  call  "  Uncle  Jimmy."  That  is  old 
Jimmy  "Wiggins,  an  engineer  of  long  standing  and  well 
known.  I  believe  Uncle  Jimmy  learned  the  machinists' 
trade  with  Eastwick  &  Harrison,  in  Philadelphia ;  at  all 
events  he  has  been  railroading  for  a  long  time,  and  has 
been  always  noted  for  his  carefulness  and  vigilance.  Let 
me  attempt  to  describe  him.  He  is  about  five  feet  four 
inches  in  height,  stoop-shouldered  and  short-legged.  His 
hair  is  iron-gray,  and  his  face  would  be  called  any  thing 
but  beautiful.  He  has,  though,  a  clear  blue  eye  that  looks 

(213) 


214  AN  UNROM ANTIC  HERO. 

straight  and  firmly  into  yours  with  an  honest  and  never- 
flinching  expression,  that  at  once  convinces  you  that  he  is 
a  "  game  "  man.  Not  very  careful  about  his  dress  is  old 
Jimmy ;  grease  spots  abound  on  all  his  clothing,  and  his 
hands  are  usually  begrimed  with  the  marks  of  his  trade. 
In  short,  Uncle  Jimmy  is  any  thing  but  a  romantic-looking 
fellow,  and  a  novelist  would  hesitate  long  before  taking 
him  as  the  hero  of  a  romance ;  but  the  old  man  is  a  hero, 
and  under  that  rough,  yet  placid  exterior,  there  beats  a 
heart  that  never  cools,  and  a  will  that  never  flinches.  We 
go  back  into  the  history  of  the  past  ages  to  find  our  heroes, 
and  them  we  almost  worship,  but  I  question  whether  the 
whole  history  of  the  world  furnishes  a  better  example  of 
self-sacrificing  heroism,  than  this  same  rough  and  unro- 
mantic  looking  Jimmy  Wiggins.  It  is  not  the  casket 
that  gives  value  to  the  jewel ;  it  is  the  jewel  gives  value  to 
all.  So  with  Uncle  Jimmy ;  rough  he  looks,  but  the  heart 
he  has  makes  him  an  honor  to  the  race,  and  deserving  of 
our  praise.  I'll  tell  you  now  why  I  think  so. 

Uncle  Jimmy  was  running  a  train  that  laid  by  on  the 
switch  at  Spring  Valley  for  the  Up  Express  to  pass.  He 
got  there  on  time,  and  the  express  being  a  little  behind 
time,  the  old  man  took  advantage  of  the  time  to  oil  around. 


AN  UNKOMANTIC  HERO.  215 

The  whistle  of  the  up  train  was  heard,  but  he  paid  no  heed 
thereto,  for  it  was  to  pass  without  stopping.  The  fellow 
who  attended  to  the  switch  stood  there  at  his  post.  Uncle 
Jimmy  was  coolly  at  work,  when  a  shriek  from  the  con- 
ductor called  his  attention,  and  looking  up,  he  saw  what 
would  frighten  and  unnerve  almost  any  one.  The  stupid 
fool  at  the  switch  had  thrown  it  wide  open,  and  the  express 
was  already  on  the  branch,  coming  too  at  the  rate  of  thirty 
miles  an  hour — thirty  feet  in  the  beat  of  your  pulse — and 
his  train  loaded  with  passengers  stood  there  stock-still. 
That  was  a  time  to  try  the  stuff  a  man  was  made  of;  ordi- 
nary men  would  have  shrunk  from  the  task,  and  run  from 
the  scene.  Your  lily-handed,  romantic  gentry  would  have 
failed  then,  but  homely  old  Jimmy  Wiggins  rose  superior 
to  the  position,  and,  unromantic  though  he  looks,  proved  a 
hero.  No  flinch  in  him.  What  though  two  hundred  tons 
of  matter  was  being  hurled  at  him,  fifty  feet  in  the  second  ? 
— what  though  the  chances  for  death  for  him  were  a  thou- 
sand to  one  for  safety?  No  tremor  in  that  brave  old 
heart,  no  nerveless  action  in  that  strong  arm.  He  leaped 
on  to  the  engine,  and  with  his  charge  met  the  shock ;  but 
his  own  engine  was  reversed,  and  under  motion  backwards 
when  the  other  train  struck  it.  It  all  took  but  an  instant 


216  AN  UNKOMANTIC   HERO. 

of  time,  but  in  that  moment  old  Jimmy  Wiggins  con- 
centrated more  of  true  courage  than  many  a  man  gets 
into  in  a  lifetime  of  seventy  years.  The  collision  was 
frightful ;  iron  and  wood  were  twisted  and  jammed  together 
as  if  they  were  rotten  straw.  Charley  Hunt,  the  engineer 
of  the  other  train,  was  instantly  killed ;  passengers  were 
wounded  ;  terror,  fright  and  pain  held  sway.  Death  was 
there,  and  all  stood  back  appalled  at  what  had  occurred ; 
yet  all  shuddered  more  to  think  of  what  would  have  been 
the  result  had  Old  Jimmy's  engine  stood  still,  and  all  felt 
a  trembling  anxiety  for  his  fate,  for  surely,  thought  they, 
"  in  that  wreck  his  life  must  have  been  the  sacrifice  to 
his  bravery ;"  but  out  of  the  mass,  as  cool,  as  calm  as  when 
running  on  a  straight  track,  crawled  Uncle  Jimmy, 
unhurt.  He  still  runs  on  the  same  road,  and  long  may 
his  days  be,  and  happy. 


THE  DUTIES  OF  AN  ENGINEER. 


THE  DUTIES  OF  AN  ENGINEER. 


THOSE  unacquainted  with  the  duties  of  an  engineer, 
are  apt  to  think  that  they  are  extremely  light,  and  re- 
quire him  simply  to  sit  upon  his  seat  and,  shutting  off 
or  letting  on  the  steam,  regulate  the  speed  of  his  engine. 
Although  this  is  a  part  of  the  duty,  still  it  is  but  a  small 
portion,  and  for  the  benefit  of  those  of  my  readers  who 
are  not  posted  on  the  matter,  I  will  briefly  state  a  few 
of  the  things  he  has  to  think  of. 

Say  we  take  the  engine  lying  in  the  shop  cold,  and  an 
order  comes  for  him  to  go  out  on  the  road.  There  is  no 
water  in  the  boiler ;  he  must  see  that  it  is  filled  up  to  the 
proper  level,  and  that  the  fire  is  started.  He  must  know 
beforehand  that  no  piece  of  the  machinery  is  broken  or 
loosened,  so  as  to  endanger  the  engine.  To  know  this, 

(219) 


220  THE   DUTIES   OF  AN   ENGINEER. 

he  must  make  a  personal  inspection  of  every  part  of  the 
engine — trucks,  wheels,  drivers,  cranks,  rods,  valves,  gear- 
ing, coupling,  flues,  scales,  journals,  driving-boxes,  throttle 
gear,  oil  cups ;  in  short,  every  thing  about  the  engine  must 
be  seen  to  by  him  personally.  He  must  know  that  every 
journal,  every  joint  on  the  whole  machine  is  in  proper 
order  to  receive  the  oil  necessary  to  lubricate  it,  for  they 
will  each  and  all  receive  a  pretty  severe  strain  in  his  com- 
ing ride,  and,  unless  well  oiled,  will  be  pretty  apt  to  get 
warm.  He  must  know  whether  the  flues  are  tight,  or 
whether  there  are  any  leaks  in  the  boiler  to  cause  him 
trouble,  or  render  it  necessary  for  him  to  carry  a  light 
pressure  of  steam.  He  must  see  that  there  is  water  in 
the  tank,  and  wood  upon  the  tender ;  that  he  has  upon  the 
engine  the  tools  usually  necessary  in  case  of  a  break- 
down, such  as  hammers,  chisels,  wrenches,  tongs,  bolts, 
nuts,  coupling-pins,  plugs  for  the  flues  in  case  one  should 
burst,  chains,  extra  links,  jack-screws,  crow,  and  pinch- 
bars,  an  axe  or  hatchet ;  waste  or  rags,  oil,  tallow  for  the 
cylinders,  and  material  for  packing  any  joint  that  may  give 
out.  All  this  he  must  see  to  and  know  before  he  starts. 
And  then,  when  steam  is  up,  he  can  go.  Now  he  must 
closely  watch  his  time-card,  and  run  so  as  to  make  the 


THE   DUTIES   OF  AN   ENGINEER.  221 

various  stations  on  time.  He  must  know  that  his  watch 
is  correct  and  in  good  order.  He  must  see  closely  to  his 
pumps  that  they  work  right,  and  that  the  water  keeps  at 
the  proper  level  in  the  boiler.  He  must  watch  the  scales 
that  the  pressure  of  the  steam  does  not  get  too  great,  also 
the  working  of  his  engine.  To  the  exhausts  of  the  steam 
his  ear  must  be  as  sensitive  as  a  musical  composer  would 
be  to  a  discord,  for  by  it  he  can  tell  much  of  the  condition 
of  his  engine,  the  set  and  play  of  the  valves,  and  the  con- 
dition of  the  many  joints  in  the  working  machinery.  At 
the  same  time  he  must  keep  the  strictest  watch  of  the 
track  ahead  of  him,  ready-nerved  for  any  emergency  that 
can  possibly  arise ;  it  may  be  a  broken  rail,  cattle  on  the 
track,  some  stubborn,  hasty  fool  striving  to  cross  the  track 
ahead  of  him,  a  broken  bridge,  washed  out  culvert,  a  train 
broken  down;  or  it  may  be*  some  stranger  frantically 
swinging  his  hands,  and,  in  every  manner  possible,  endeav- 
oring to  attract  his  attention.  Something  may  happen  to 
his  train  or  his  engine,  and  he  must  keep  the  strictest  watch 
of  both  ;  his  hands  must  be  ready  to  blow  the  whistle,  shut 
off  steam  or  reverse  his  engine,  on  the  instant  intimation 
of  danger,  for  his  engine  gets  over  the  ground  at  a  rapid 
rate,  and  nothing  but  a  cool  nerve  and  stout  arm  can  stop 


222  THE  DUTIES   OF   AN   ENGINEER. 

it,  perhaps  not  these.  And  if  any  thing  does  happen  ren- 
dering it  necessary  for  him  to  stop,  he  cannot  say  to  any- 
body, "  Here,  do  this ; "  he  must  go  at  it  himself;  and 
oftentimes,  though  it  be  but  a  trivial  thing,  it  will  tax  his 
ingenuity  to  the  utmost  to  repair  it  Thus  he  goes  on 
every  day,  be  it  clear  or  cloudy,  whether  summer  breeze 
fill  the  air  with  balm,  or  the  chill  winds  of  winter  make  the 
road-bed  solid  as  the  rock,  and  the  iron  of  the  rails  and 
wheels  as  brittle  as  glass ;  whether  the  rain* pelting  down, 
makes  of  every  tiny  brook  a  torrent  or  the  drifted  snow- 
blockades  the  track,  and  his  engine  has  to  plunge  into  the 
chilly  mass ;  through  it  all  his  eye  must  never  cease  its 
vigil,  nor  his  arm  lose  its  cunning.  In  cold  weather  he 
must  watch  the  pumps  that  they  do  not  freeze  while  stand- 
ing at  the  stations,  or  the  wheels  get  fractured  by  the 
frost ;  and,  in  cold  or  warm  weather,  he  must  keep  watch 
of  every  place  where  there  is  the  slightest  friction,  and 
keep  it  well  oiled.  At  every  station  where  time  is  allowed, 
he  must  give  the  whole  engine  a  close  inspection,  lest  some 
little  part  be  out  of  order,  and  endangering  some  larger 
and  more  important  piece  of  the  machinery.  At  last, 
after  this  his  journey  for  the  day  is  ended,  his  work  is  by 
no  means  done.  He  must  again  inspect  his  engine,  and 


THE  DUTIES   OF  AN  ENGINEER.  223 

if  there  is  any  thing  out  of  order,  so  much  that  he  can- 
not without  assistance  repair  it,  he  must  apply  at  head- 
quarters for  the  necessary  aid.  But  there  are  a  hundred 
little  matters  that  he  can  attend  to  himself ;  these  he  must 
see  to  and  do.  The  friction  and  enormous  strain  neces- 
sarily wears  the  brasses  of  the  journals,  and  creates  what 
he  calls  "  lost  motion,"  that  is,  the  journal  moves  in  its 
box  loosely  without  causing  the  required  motion  in  the  part 
of  the  machinery  with  which  it  is  connected ;  this  he  must 
remedy  by  various  expedients.  The  spring-packing  of  the 
piston  may  have  worn  loose,  and  require  to  be  set  out': 
some  one  of  the  numerous  steam  joints  may  be  leaking, 
and  these  he  must  repack.  Some  of  the  flues  may  also  be 
leaking ;  if  so,  he  must  tighten  them ;  or  there  may  be  a 
crack  in  the  boiler  that  leaks  which  can  be  remedied  by 
caulking ;  this  he  must  do.  The  grate-bars  may  be  broken 
or  disarranged ;  he  must  enter  the  fire-box  and  arrange 
them.  The  packing  in  the  pumps  may  have  worn  so  as 
to  render  their  operation  imperfect,  or  the  valves  may  be 
out  of  order,  or  the  strainer  between  the  tank  and  the 
pump  may  be  clogged ;  if  either  or  all  be  the  case,  he  must 
take  down  the  pump  and  rectify  the  matter.  The  smoke- 
stack also  may  be  clogged  with  cinders,  or  the  netting 


224  THE  DUTIES   OF  AN  ENGINEER. 

over  it  may  be  choked  so  as  to  impede  the  draught ;  if 
so,  he  must  remedy  ifc,  or  see]  that  it  is  done.  Some  of 
the  orifices  through  which  oil  is  let  on  to  the  machinery 
may  be  clogged  or  too  open ;  these  he  must  see  to.  One 
or  more  of  the  journal-boxes  of  the  wheels  may  need  re- 
packing, and  he  must  do  it.  An  eccentric  may  have  slip- 
ped a  little,  or  a  valve-rod  been  stripped,  or  a  wheel  be  de- 
fective, or  a  tire  on  the  driving-wheel  may  be  loose,  and 
have  to  be  bolted  on  or  reset.  A  gauge-cock  may  be  clog- 
ged, a  leaf  of  a  spring  broke,  or  the  boiler  may  be  very 
dirty  and  want  washing  out.  Any  of  these  things  or  a 
hundred  others  may  have  happened,  and  require  his  at- 
tention, which  must  on  all  occasions  be  given  to  it;  for 
each  part,  however  simple,  goes  to  make  up  a  whole,  that, 
if  out  of  repair,  will  render  imminent  a  fearful  loss  of  life 
and  limb. 

Thus  the  engineer  rides  every  day,  having  the  same 
care,  and  facing  the  same  dangers,  with  the  same  responsi- 
bility resting  on  him.  Who  then  shall  say  that,  though 
he  be  grimy  and  greasy,  rough  and  uncouth,  given  to  to- 
bacco-chewing, and  sometimes  to  hard  swearing,  he  is  of 
no  consequence  to  the  world  ?  Who  shall  blame  him  too 
severely  if  sometimes  he  makes  an  error  ? 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


ft*  AUU04 

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